


the freedom and the guile

by Adarian



Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bisexual Steve Rogers, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It of Sorts, Gay Bucky Barnes, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Parallel Universes, Post-Endgame, Sam Wilson is a Gift, blink and you miss it cameos, fighting toxic masculinity through crying, we're diving into 80s/90s Marvel y'all, yep you read those pairings right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2020-03-15
Packaged: 2020-08-14 12:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 52,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adarian/pseuds/Adarian
Summary: When Steve goes to return the Infinity Stones, he asks Bucky to come with him back to the 1940s. Bucky refuses, not willing to go into the closet again while Steve marries Peggy. Bucky tries to get his life together, supporting Sam as he takes his role as Captain America and attempting to get over Steve. But just when things start to look more hopeful, Bucky is told a secret that changes everything.And in another plane of reality, someone else learns the same truth and must grapple with how to handle it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm kinda refusing to acknowledge that Steve went into the past of the same timeline because it doesn't make sense. Also I started writing this before the screenwriters announced that so ha.This is going to be a long one. It was meant to be like 5k but now it's a monster. It's self-indulgent and mopey and I'm just doing whatever I want. So this will probably be awful but I need to get it out of my system.
> 
> title from "I Won't Share You" by the Smiths which I have been listening to on repeat for months now, partially because I always misheard the lyric as "I want the freedom and I want the guy". Which it could have been because Morrissey.

Bucky waited. They needed to talk but Steve had just lost two of his closest friends and needed time to process. He had mostly ignored Bucky and Sam, but that was okay for now. They would be there when he was ready.

Bucky hadn't expected Steve to pull him aside just before Tony's funeral. Just a tap on the shoulder and a quiet request for him to follow. Bucky had thought that maybe Steve needed a quiet moment of anchoring. It had been like that in Wakanda sometimes. Steve would visit for only a day or so, barely talk to him, but need to be by his side, always touching him or holding onto him one way or another. When they had been first been reunited, Steve had hugged him for nearly ten minutes straight, burying his face in his neck. Their embraces didn't grow much shorter over time. Steve always held him like it was the last time they'd ever see each other. Then Steve would be gone and while Bucky missed him, he knew he would come back. He had always come back. 

But this time he wasn't going to.

Steve explained, "Once I've put the stones back, I'm going back to 1945, right after I crashed. I'll make sure I don't get found until I'm supposed to." 

Bucky blinked, trying to process what Steve had just said. "You're staying?" 

Steve said, "I've got a chance that I'm never going to get again. I can go back to where I belong. I can go back to her." 

_Her._ His heart nearly crumpled. Peggy. After all this time, it was still Peggy. 

"I want you to come back with me, Buck. We can go home again. It'll be just like old times, before all of this." 

_Her._ He was choosing her.

Bucky couldn't do this again. He couldn't hide it anymore. Not even for him. 

Bucky took in a deep breath before confessing, "Steve, I'm gay."

Steve's mouth parted slightly and Bucky couldn't stop staring at his lips as he continued, "I don't...I know we've never really talked about it or put it in words, but I know you're not straight either. Maybe that doesn't matter to you because you love Peggy so you can put that part of yourself away and just be happy with her. But I...I can't go and watch you do it. I want you to be happy. If you're going to go, I'm not going to stop you. I want you to be happy. And if that's not with me, then I'm not going to hold you to any promises."

He half expected Steve to ask him what he meant or to deny it. But Steve's eyes brimmed with tears and his lip trembled.

"We could have a life together," Steve murmured. "We could-"

Bucky refused, "No. I'm not going to pretend to be someone I'm not. If this is your happily ever after, it's not going to include me."

Bucky was trembling now and Steve reached out to touch his shoulder. Bucky slapped his hand away and pointed at him.

"No," Bucky said firmly, willing the tremor in his voice to stop. "No. If you try to comfort me right now I'm going to start crying and make a scene." 

"Bucky," Steve pleaded. "Please come home with me."

Bucky shook his head. "That's not our home, Steve. We can't get what we had back. It doesn't exist anymore. We only have now. We're together. Finally, Steve, we can finally be together. Can't...can't that be enough? You and me. Please, please don't go. Stay with me. Please. Please, stay with me." 

Steve confessed, "But that's not the life I want, Buck."

Bucky murmured, "You mean you don't want me."

Steve was openly crying now, silent tears streaming down his face. Steve shook his head and whispered shakily, "I'm sorry." 

Bucky was a survivor. He had lived through things that should have killed any man. But at that moment he expected to crumple up and die. It was over. It was all over. He ran away like a child, not looking where he was going. He hit something solid and arms caught him. 

Sam asked, "Hey, are you-"

Bucky burst into tears. Ugly, wretched, disgusting, choking tears. He started to apologize but Sam wrapped him in a hug and started murmuring, "Hey, it's okay. Let it out. It's all okay."

Bucky buried his face in Sam's shoulder, sobbing. He clung to Sam, holding on to dear life. Sam rubbed his back and eventually Bucky managed to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry," Bucky whispered.

Sam smiled. "Hey, no one does well at funerals. You've got this, okay?"

Bucky had no right to tell Sam what Steve was planning. He wasn't sure he could even do it without falling apart again. He'd know soon enough. 

It felt only a breath before the funeral was over and Bucky was holding Steve for one last time. Steve let go, promising it would be okay, but Bucky knew it wouldn't be. This was the end of the line. 

Five seconds. That was all it took for Steve be aged seventy years, to live his life twice over, and become a content old man sitting alone on a bench. Bucky couldn't go see him. He wasn't strong enough. He sent Sam over with barely a word, hanging back to watch from afar. 

It seemed an eternity until Sam returned to him, slinging the shield behind him. 

Sam asked, "Do you want to..."

Steve hadn't turned around to look at them. He looked straight ahead.

Bucky whispered, "No, I'll talk to him later." 

"Did you know?"

Bucky nodded. "Yeah, I knew."

"You really think I can do this? Be Captain America?"

Bucky smiled tiredly. "Yeah, I do. It's not going to be easy, but I'm here. I've got a lot of experience being Cap's right hand man. I might be useful to have around."

Sam clapped him on the back. "I could use all the help I can get."

Sam kept his arm around Bucky's shoulders as they walked off together. It took all of Bucky's strength not to look back at Steve to see if he watched them leave. But Bucky knew it wouldn't make it any easier either way.

*****

Bruce questioned, "Who's going to be the leader of the Avengers then? Tony's dead. Nat's dead. Steve's in the triple digits, Thor's screwed off somewhere in space, Clint's retired again and I'm not exactly leadership material. Then the rest of them have their own countries and peoples to govern. Or were not great optically. The choice really comes down to you, me, War Machine, Captain Marvel and the Wasp. Carol's got half the galaxy to take care of so she's out. Rhodey doesn't want it and Hope's only just joined. Even if that weren’t the case, you'd still be the best pick, Sam. You're Captain America. You represent something really important. I think it should be you. I'll be here to help you, we all will. But I think it should be you."

Bucky wandered off as they continued talking. He knew Sam would take it and he'd be good at it. He had a strategic mind and he understood people. He had a bit of a temper, but no worse than Steve's. It was a good choice. It was the smart choice. 

Bucky looked up at the second floor, aware that someone was watching him. T'Challa was with his sister, both gazing down at Bucky with something that looked like pity. When they realized they had been caught, both awkwardly turned away and chatted about something in Xhosa. 

Sam left the meeting with Bruce and went to Bucky, patting him on the back. Sam gestured to the courtyard. Bucky followed him shakily, tempted to take his arm to steady himself.

Once they were outside, Sam asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit. How about you?"

Sam sighed. "Feeling like I'm about to have six panic attacks at once, honestly. I'm okay though. I can handle it."

Bucky squeezed his hand. "You can. You're going to be all right."

Sam said, "I'm going to be heading to Wakanda for a few weeks. Shuri's going to make me a suit that accommodates the shield better. I thought you might want to come along. I could use the company."

"You don't have to babysit me, Sam," Bucky muttered. "I'm fine."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, totally fine. You don't have to fool me. I think we could both use a break and you could go visit your goats. Some of them have got to be kicking around still."

"Goats usually live at least fifteen years," Bucky grumbled. "They'll be there."

It'd be nice to see them. Some of the kids might have grown up. Or they could have all been dusted and just be confused little things. He'd visit but he'd gift them to his neighbour. He didn't want to stay at his little house, not in that place he had spent so much time with Steve and even more time pining for him. 

But where else was he supposed to go?

"When are we leaving?" Bucky asked.

"As soon as you're ready," Sam said. "So if you want to go talk to him first...."

Bucky shook his head. "No. Let's go." 

*****

Bucky blinked awake. How long had he been out? It had been daylight when he closed his eyes and it was daylight again now. He reached around sleepily for his phone, temporarily forgetting he had purposely left it behind. He wanted to phone Steve about every five minutes and he knew he couldn't. Not yet. Maybe not ever. 

Bucky wasn't sure how long he laid there on his side before the blinds were forced open and Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed. Bucky muttered at him to leave.

Bucky murmured into his pillow, "Just let me sleep. Please." 

Sam ignored him. "How was the village? Catch up with your friends?"

Bucky muttered into his pillow. "Only two of us got dusted but almost all our animals did. Most people moved to the city. They lost everything. Some guy moved into my place. He gave me a box of crap he found around the house."

"Anything good?"

Bucky recalled now what had sent him to bed in the middle of the day. One of Steve's sketchbooks had been under the bed and Hamadi had been so moved they hadn't been able to throw it out. It was mostly empty since it was a new book. There had been a few sketches of locals, but there was one of Bucky, detailed and perfectly shaded, of him asleep in bed. Bucky remembered waking to see Steve drawing, the guy so sheepish at being caught he had gone bright red. Bucky had teased him and wrestled him, trying to get a look, and they had ended up toppled on the floor together, the notebook lost beneath the bed, and Bucky lying on top of Steve. They had looked at each other for just a second too long, Bucky's heart racing as he wondered for the millionth time if he should just lean in and kiss him. 

Bucky croaked, "No. Nothing good." 

Sam said quietly, "When I lost Riley, I stayed in bed for five days. I know it's not the same, but I know what it's like losing the person you're closest to. I know...shit, I don't know how you're feeling. I don't know what exactly Steve was to you and you don't have to tell me. But the longer you stay in that bed, the harder it's going to be to get back out of it." 

Bucky didn't see why that was a problem. Spending the rest of his life in this bed seemed like a real keen idea right around then.

"I'm in love with him," Bucky confessed wearily. "I have been since I was seventeen. Hell, maybe earlier than that. But that was when I figured it out at least. I knew I liked guys, only guys, but Steve liked girls too. I hoped maybe he'd meet somebody and that maybe I'd meet a girl who understood and we'd work something out. I took him out on all sorts of double dates, hoping one of them would stick. But no one ever saw him like I did. Then when I was captured that first time, I swore I'd tell him. I'd seen enough guys like me in the army making it work. And I knew then that I was never going to love anyone like I loved him. Then he saved me like a goddamn prince in a fairy tale and I was going to but...but then I met Peggy and...."

Bucky swallowed hard. "I knew then that he had been waiting for her. She was the one for him. And I couldn't blow that for him, no matter what I wanted. Then...then when we found each other again, I thought that it'd be different this time. I thought...God, I really thought he loved me too. I really, really did. I thought he was taking his time and I got that. Even if the world's different now, it takes a long time for that fear to go away. And I was recovering and he was figuring out who he was without the Avengers. But it didn't matter. Peggy had her happy ending and I thought we'd get ours. I was okay being his second choice. That didn't matter to me. I just wanted him and if that was how I finally got him, I didn't care. But he didn't want me. He didn't want this life with me, or any life with me. He wanted her and he wasn't going to let anything stop him from being with her. And I know he's back now and hell, even as he is, I want to throw myself at his feet and beg, but he left me. Or I left him. He had this whole happy long life without me. I could have been there but there's a difference between being second choice and not being chosen at all. I'm probably just a fond memory for him but he's an open wound for me. I can't. As much as I want to, I can't. I chose me. I chose to live my life for me. I have to keep doing that. But I love him. I'm always going to love him and I'm never going to love anyone or anything as much as I love him."

"I'm sorry," Sam murmured. "I'm so sorry." 

Sam touched his shoulder. Bucky put his hand over Sam's but couldn't turn over to look at him. Sam rubbed his back for a moment before rising again. 

"Shuri's got you in for a maintenance appointment in three days," Sam said. "You do whatever you need to do so you can be out in the world by then. If you need anything, you just call me, okay?"

Bucky nodded. "Okay."

*****

The next day Bucky wouldn't get out of bed. Or couldn't. He wasn't sure. He pulled up Netflix on his virtual screen and watched Ken Burns' Captain America documentary. He sat against his headboard, holding a pillow to his chest, watching footage of Steve on the battlefield. He looked worn but determined. He was a force of nature. He was unstoppable. 

Bucky hadn't seen the whole thing before, just the clips they showed of it at the Smithsonian. He hadn't known there was a section about him. There were old photographs of Brooklyn Heights and Red Hook while the narrator talked about Steve's childhood best friend. A few sketches Steve had done of him - God knows how they got them - while someone read excerpts from a letter Bucky had written him from the front, just before Steve became a superhero. Then footage of them during the war and the clip Bucky had watched a hundred times while he tried to remember. The pair of them, side by side, laughing. Steve had asked the cameraman what he needed them to do and the guy had something along the lines of asking them to act like they were friends. And Bucky had laughed, saying "but we are friends." He watched himself mouthing the words over and over again.

And then there was another letter read, one that Bucky had never seen. Steve had written to George and Winnie Barnes, telling them what had happened to their son. 

_I don't know how I'm going to live without him. It feels impossible. He was the best part of me. The only part of me that mattered. I loved him._

Bucky screamed and threw the remote straight through the screen, which glitched and faded. The audio still played with historians talking about romantic language in close wartime friendships but Bucky had stopped listening. He had also ripped several pillows in two. 

Bucky turned off the movie and laid on his back. What was he doing? 

_I don't know how I'm going to live without him. It feels impossible. He was the best part of me. The only part of me that mattered. I loved him._

Steve had found a way to move on. Whatever he had felt in that moment, he had clearly gotten over it. Bucky had to do the same or he wasn't going to survive. Even if in that moment he didn't want to, he had gone through too much shit to die of a broken heart over a lying asshole. This wasn't how he went out.

_I loved him_. Past tense. When had he stopped? What had changed? Or had Steve just finally realized that Bucky wasn't worth it? 

Bucky closed the blinds and went back to bed. He pulled the blankets around him as tightly as he could and he shut his eyes, pleading for his mind to let him sleep. 


	2. Chapter 2

Three days after his confession to Sam, Bucky finally forced himself out of bed. 

Bucky dressed casually but it had taken him an inordinate amount of energy to figure out what he was going to wear. Eventually he went with a Wakandan tunic, loose flowy pants, and a pair of sandals that Shuri had given him when he first came to the country. He kept a wrap around his shoulder, providing some support to what remained of his left arm. He had kept the prosthesis off since Steve had left. It felt weirdly grounding to have it off, even if he felt unbalanced. 

Bucky entered Shuri's lab where the teenager was surrounded by screens, scanning through a hundred things at once. She beamed when she noticed him and closed most of her programs, leaving up the diagnostic of his arm.

"I've got five years of advancements to catch up on," she explained. "It occupies much of my free time. There have been some techniques relevant to artificial limbs and I thought we try some while we repaired the battle damage. Have a seat. I'll need to recalibrate it to your muscle mass."

Bucky sat sidesaddle on the bench across from her. She came back with his prosthetic and clipped only the interior portions in. Bucky winced. It was the one problem with not wearing it for a while. His body would quickly start healing the scar tissue, making it more difficult to align things properly.

"Sorry," she said kindly. "I'll do a few adjustments. I wanted to show you something I came across when I was studying pop culture that I missed. Hand over your beads to me. There, perfect. It's a new dating application that's perfected the use of 3-D visualization. It's only local to my country right now but others are starting to test it out. Here, you just swipe this way and if he's swiped too, it'll send a message to both of you with a date and time that works for your calendars." 

Bucky had never had to come out to Shuri but she had been inside his head. She knew there was a good portion of his brain that was dedicated to how gay he was. This was her strange way of telling him she knew that Steve was gone and that she wanted Bucky to be happy. She was an odd kid, but he liked her a lot. If she thought he was ready to try, then hell, maybe he was. 

Bucky asked, "So it's based just on looks? So it's just for hooking up?" 

Shuri shrugged her shoulders. "How should I know? I do not have time to research dating apps that are not catered to me. This one is only for men." 

Bucky winced as Shuri continued her work. "You think a one-armed white guy is going to do well on this thing in your country?"

"You are an Avenger," Shuri reminded. "Granted, you are not the most famous one in this country, but you should still have a few men interested. Perhaps more if you shaved." 

"I miss when you were professional."

"I miss when you only asked me mechanical questions. Now go play with it so I can get some work done. I've already put your data in when I was testing the software. All you have to do is swipe. But with your right hand, please."

Bucky stared at the screen for a long time before finally opening up the first photo. Suddenly it all felt very real. He might meet a guy. Some guy who wasn't Steve. Some guy who might actually want him. 

It had been eight days since Tony's funeral. Surely he shouldn't push himself that fast. But maybe it would be easier to just...just rip off the bandaid. It wasn't like he had been a monk all his life, even being in love with someone else. It might be nice to just go and have some fun. 

He swiped through some more profiles. Handsome men, educated men, a few who were a bit rough around the edges, some slender, some larger. Mostly Wakandan but a few foreigners here and there. Once Shuri had finished and his arm was reinstalled, she rejected a few men on Bucky's screen and before he could stop her, she accepted one. It instantly came back as a match and the application created a dinner date for them that evening. 

Bucky grumbled, "How do you cancel this thing?"

"You don't," she reprimanded. "You need to go out. I've set your profile so you're marked for only looking for friendship. Go out, go talk to a non-Avenger, and enjoy yourself. Please, for all of our sakes." 

Bucky smiled sheepishly. "Fine. One dinner."

*****

Bucky had two separate panic attacks before he made it to the restaurant. They weren't as terrible as they could have been. They were less about inevitable loss and suffering and more about the fact he hadn't had sex since the Berlin Wall fell and hadn't been on a real date since the 40's. And he had never been on a date with a guy. He wasn't worried about being in danger or judged. Wakanda was an incredibly safe country. It was just...weird. Was it much different? Maybe it was because he might actually like them and it might actually mean something.

Bucky met Lekan at a vegan restaurant. Neither of them were vegan, but Shuri was, and it was apparently her favourite place for a first date. Lekan recognized Bucky right away and waved him down to join him at a table near the back. A waiter brought them iced water and menus before giving them space.

Lekan was handsome in a delicate sort of way. He was graceful, his motions very deliberate, and his stance poised. Before he even told Bucky, Bucky knew Lekan was a musician, probably a violinist. He was upper middle class, likely the youngest son out of at least three. Lekan kept his hair in neat and precise dreadlocks, pulled back in a bun. His eyebrows were just slightly shaped but mostly natural. He wore a little eyeliner, but just enough to highlight his dark eyes.

Lekan ordered for them both, some curry dish Bucky didn't know of, and a bottle of sweet wine that Bucky knew well. Lekan poured them both a glass and they clinked them together. 

Lekan asked, "So which half were you?" 

"Sorry?" 

"Were you left behind or vanished?" 

"Oh. Um, dusted...you?"

He gave a weak smile. "Dusted. That's good, by the way. I'm finding that first dates with survivors don't go really well. They get this look in their eyes and it just sort of falls apart from there."

Bucky gave a weak smile. "Yeah, I can imagine that."

The date went a bit easier after that. Bucky didn't share much but enjoyed listening to Lekan. He taught music to children of all ages, but specialized in music therapy for children with communication issues. He was handsome, smart, well read, and tipped generously which was always a must for Bucky. Lekan seemed to like Bucky too but for what reason Bucky couldn't fathom. He had barely said a thing all night and he was sure he had sweated through every piece of clothing he had worn.

When dinner was over, Lekan asked Bucky if he'd like to come over for a drink. Bucky agreed, riding the light rail with him to a well-manicured neighbourhood. Lekan lived in a high-rise condo with a gorgeous view of the city but it was a small one-bedroom full with his instruments and records. It gave Bucky a pang of homesickness, remembering his living room full of Steve's art supplies and half finished paintings.

What the hell was he doing here? He wasn't ready for this. 

Yet when Lekan put on some American soul and brought him over a glass of wine, Bucky didn't flee. They drank on the couch, looking out over the city, Lekan only getting up to flip over the record. After the second glass, Lekan moved in closer, his arm around Bucky now but not possessively. He was resting on his shoulder, intimate in a way that Bucky was ready for but without threat of moving further. 

Bucky could see it going further. He had done so before. God, he basically spent the first year of the war in bed with any blond that would look at him twice. He couldn't remember his first time. The first sexual encounter he really remembered was just after Azzano. It was the night after he had met Peggy and knew that he had lost Steve for good. Bucky normally was on top but he found a hung guy who barely spoke English and got railed against a wall until dawn. He had wanted to throw his agency away to someone, anyone who might want him. And he had wanted it to hurt. 

It wouldn't be like that with Lekan. Bucky would treat him right. He'd take his time with him like he never been able to when he was the Winter Soldier. He'd please him and unravel him, probably with his mouth. Bucky had learned that early on. He had a wicked tongue and if his mouth was full, he couldn't be caught whispering Steve's name when he came. 

Lekan tilted his face to his, exposing his throat. Bucky kissed his neck, cradling his head in his real hand. Lekan shivered and shifted into his lap, closing the distance between them. They were nearly flush to each other now, their noses just brushing, their lips a breath apart. 

Bucky could kiss him. Bucky could have him right on the couch. This could be moving on. Lekan was a good man, a kind man, and had truly stunning eyes. This could be the start of something real. For once in Bucky's life, someone might one day love him back.

Lekan said, "You look like you're deciding whether or not to devour me, White Wolf. What conclusion are you coming to?"

"I don't know," Bucky admitted. "What do you want from me?"

Lekan whispered, "I want you inside of me with your metal hand around my throat. I want you to keep thrusting even when I beg you to stop. I want you to make me bleed like a virgin. I want you to tear me apart."

It was if Bucky had gotten thrown into cold water. This was all a fantasy to Lekan. He wanted a man with enough moral backbone not to truly hurt him but one with enough danger to make it as real as possible. Bucky could say no. He should say no, frankly. But somebody wanted him and Bucky was tired of being casted aside. He could just do it. He could just get through it. 

Bucky put his hand on Lekan's chest and gently pushed him away. 

Bucky said quietly, "Thank you for a lovely night, but I think it's time for me to head home. Goodnight, Lekan."

Lekan looked momentarily confused but walked him to the door and gave him a kiss on the cheek goodnight. Bucky took the train home, looking out the window as the rain trickled against it. He tapped his human fingers against the glass and a smile crept across his face. He had said no. It wasn't because he wasn't Steve. It was because Bucky didn't want to do something and he said no. 

When he got back to his quarters, he called Sam who came right over. Bucky told Sam what happened and Sam was delighted, though apparently disappointed he wasn't getting a juicy hook up story. They drank a little and fell asleep watching a Nigerian soap opera together. Bucky woke up to Sam snoring beside him in bed and he smiled to himself. He got up and for the first time since he had been dusted, he went for a jog.

When he came back, Sam was still in his bed but on the phone. Even through the distorted speaker, Bucky recognized Steve's voice. He thought about bolting but he found he couldn't move his legs. He just stood in the doorway, knowing he was on the verge of a panic attack.

Sam noticed him and wrapped up the call quickly, "Okay, that sounds good. We'll talk soon. Take care."

He hung up and went to Bucky who just pushed him away, demanding, "Get out!" 

Sam protested, "Bucky, I-"

Bucky threw him out the door and locked it behind him. Then he broke into tears and disgusted by his reaction, he punched the door with his human hand until the skin broke. He fell to his knees, still sobbing. 

*****

Despite how terribly things had gone before, Bucky tried the app again. This time he met with a twenty-two year old named Moyo who was bright and sunny and cheerful. He had the most gorgeous curly hair, biggest brown eyes, and skin so dark it seemed almost blue. They took a walk in the park together on a rainy afternoon, sharing an umbrella. Which was difficult, considering how much shorter Moyo was. 

They came to a bridge over a little river and Moyo encouraged them to lean over the edge and watch the rain hit the water. So they did for a time and Bucky snuck glances at Moyo. He was young, too young for him, and his heart was too pure, especially considering he had spent all of his adult life in a vanished world. It was almost painful watching his joy. It made Bucky wonder if he would ever be that happy again. Maybe he never had been.

Moyo kissed him goodbye but it didn't felt like it meant more. It felt like a hello and a goodbye all in one. Bucky tried to say something, anything, but Moyo put his hand on Bucky's metal one and said gently in English, "You'll find your way. You just have to keep looking."


	3. Chapter 3

It was Bucky who suggested they go back to the States. Sam had been putting it off for him, but Bucky wasn't selfish enough to make him stay. The Avengers needed Captain America and Sam Wilson was as ready as he was going to be. 

When they got back to the Avengers Compound, Bucky shaved off his beard and cut his hair, just to about the length it was when he first went to Wakanda. He went back downstairs and wandered, not sure what exactly he should be doing. He wasn't really an Avenger. He had been affiliated with them because of Steve and pretty much only because of him. Maybe that was still enough, even with Steve gone.

Where was Steve? Bucky wasn't ready to see him but he still wanted to know if he was okay. He was over a hundred years old. Someone should probably check on him every once in awhile. Sam probably was. Sam was responsible like that. Maybe that was why he had been on the phone with him in Bucky's room. 

Bucky went to Steve's room to pack up whatever was left. He'd get Sam to pass it on to him. But when he went inside, it was already empty. He knew Steve had his own place in the city but this was still his home base. Surely he would have left something behind. Maybe he had been here already. Maybe someone else had. 

He ran into Sam as he left the room. Sam asked, "Can we talk?"

Bucky agreed and walked with him down the hall. 

Sam said, "Listen, SHIELD wants to offer you a consultancy position. They'd give you a stipend to come in every once in awhile when they need an assassin's perspective. I told them I'd talk to you about it but I want to suggest something else." 

"Go for it."

"I was thinking we could move back to the city. It's fine here and I'd rather be in DC to be frank, but I think it makes the most sense. We could get an apartment. You could do the job if you wanted to but what I could really use is a superhero coach and maybe a bodyguard if I get forced to do all the PR shit I think they're going to make me do. I'm not as good with bullets as Steve is and I know there's already pissed off assholes because Captain America's black. Look...I could really use a friend right now and I was kind of hoping you'd be up for it." 

"Are you asking me to move in with you, Wilson?"

Sam admitted, "I'm kind of demanding it. As much as I'd rather have my own space and not have to deal with your mopey ass, I made a promise to keep an eye out for you and you're still technically a war criminal so consider it part of your probation."

"So what would I do the rest of the time when you're busy being a superhero?"

Sam shrugged. "Be a good roommate and try to figure out what you want to do next. I just figured you might want to go home. I've got a lead on a townhouse in the Manhattan Beach area. I've got a friend who runs a vet support group out of a synagogue there. I thought it might be a good place to start over." 

Bucky considered this since Sam had certainly put thought into this, even if he was acting like it was a casual suggestion. It was Brooklyn, but far from Red Hook and any painful reminders of his life before the war. Bucky was Jewish, something cut from most history books, but it hadn't been a big part of his life since...well, since he was a kid. When Bucky fell in love with a Catholic boy, he drifted far from his faith. By the time he fell off the train, he had lost it all together. But still, Sam had looked for that connection and his social worker brain seemed to think it was important. 

"Okay," Bucky agreed quietly. "Okay, I'll move in with you." 

Sam smiled and grasped his shoulder, giving him a friendly shake before continuing down the hallway. Bucky followed beside him, instinctively a step behind. He could be a bodyguard. He could watch his back. It could be...it could be okay.

*****

The first thing Bucky had to do in their new place was clean. The townhouse had been abandoned years ago, like a lot of the neighbourhood, and it was run into the ground. There was a housing crisis now that fifty percent of the population had shown back up again but even the squatters wanted nothing to do with their new home. Bucky wasn't sure what had happened there in the last five years that had blown a hole through his bedroom wall, but he was pretty sure he didn't want to know. 

After laying wire down for the patch, Bucky opened the window to get some air in. Almost immediately, a small white cat used the gap to jump into their home. Bucky stepped back and the cat sat down before him, cocking its head in puzzlement at him. 

He had heard about this in Wakanda. Owners left and five years later pets showed up finding they no longer had a home. Sometimes people came back to look for them, but sometimes people didn't. 

"You must have belonged to the last tenants, huh? They leave you behind, baby?"

It purred and looked at Bucky with big blue eyes. It rubbed against his ankles, purring even louder, though not steadily, indicating it might have some issues breathing. When Bucky tried to nudge it away, it hissed at him before jumping up onto the bare mattress and lying down. It still glared at him. Bucky knelt down to stare at him back, waiting for it to blink. The cat eased, starting to purr again. It leapt onto his shoulder and started nuzzling against his neck. 

Bucky softened and scratched behind its ears. The cat chirped before jumping back down and going down the stairs. Bucky followed it into the kitchen and looked through the cupboard, vaguely remembering there was some canned salmon somewhere. Bucky found it and fed it. He went back to his spackling work and by the time he was finished, the cat was already back on the bed and fast asleep. 

Bucky crossed his arms, looking at the tiny thing. Damn, he really was seeing Steve everywhere if even a stray was reminding him of him. Still, he couldn't throw it out. Like it or not, it appeared he now had a cat.

*****

Bucky fell asleep on the couch watching the Ken Burns documentary again. He stirred briefly when a blanket was placed on him. He was vaguely aware of Sam wishing him goodnight, but it was mostly drowned out by the loud purr of the cat lying on his face. 

*****

Bucky woke up in his bed, frowning at the ceiling. Bean rubbed against his face, mewing politely in his ear that it was time to be fed. Bucky rose and the cat followed, padding behind him. He topped up Bean's food and water before going to the fridge, already knowing there was nothing in it. Sam wouldn't have gotten groceries. Captain America didn't buy groceries. That was what Bucky was there for. 

Bucky had been in Manhattan Beach for three weeks now. He had gotten the hang of cat ownership, for the most part. He made friends with the girl who worked at the flower shop at the bottom of their building. Kit had convinced him to take a class on cacti, promising him that even Bean wouldn't eat them. She had turned out to be wrong but Bean had seemed to learn his lesson and hissed every morning at the surviving cactus, as if warning it to watch its back. 

Bucky tried to be a part of the community like Sam wanted him too. He had gotten a library card. He had gone to two peer support meetings. He had even gone to the synagogue, just the once. He would probably go back at some point, but he didn't plan on making a habit of it. He had even gone on another date, this time from an American app, and it went okay. No offers of a night of violent possessive sex or an almost spiritual promise of a better future. Just okay. But after Bucky went home, he threw his phone across the room as to not call Steve, and listened to the same album six times in a row on his headphones. 

God. How often had he come close to phoning Steve? He wanted to. He probably even should to be a good friend and the better man. But he knew he couldn't be civil. Not yet. Not when there were a hundred questions flying through his head and none he wanted to know the answer to.

Bucky gave the cat a pet before grabbing his wallet and keys. He took the stairs down to the ground floor and went out onto the street. Still in his pajamas with just a sweater thrown on, he went just around the corner to the convenience store to buy some milk and cereal. He'd do a bigger trip after he'd eaten.

His phone buzzed and he answered, still perusing the instant oatmeal. "Hello?"

"Sergeant Barnes? This is Carol Danvers. We met at the funeral."

Bucky remembered her immediately. A gorgeous woman in a sharp black suit, a powerful stance, and a haircut that made every queer woman give a double take. 

"Captain," Bucky greeted. "What can I do for you?"

"I'm in the neighbourhood for a few days. Ms. Potts convinced me to stick around for some charity event for...I don't know, something or another. Captain Wilson asked me to take you off his hands for a night so he could ask out that cute redhead in accounting. You interested?"

Bucky asked, "Does it matter if I am?"

Carol laughed. "Not really. I'll be by your place at eight."

Carol hung up and Bucky frowned, looking at the screen. What exactly had Sam signed him up for?

*****

Carol showed up at eight sharp, dressed in a tight pair of black pants, a worn t-shirt of some band he had never heard of, and red combat boots. She wore dark eye shadow, darker mascara and her lips painted the same bright red as her boots. 

Bucky was in his sweatpants and a LA Dodgers tank top that Steve had bought him as a joke. He had worn it pretty much every night since. 

Carol laughed at the sight of him. "Okay, that's not going to work. You own anything other than that, Barnes?" 

Bucky led her into his bedroom. He sat down on his bed and Bean jumped up to sit beside him. Carol went into his closet and frowned as she started sorting through all of it. She threw a pair of jeans on the bed beside him and continued for a long time before finding two shirts: one a tight black long sleeved number and the other a soft green vee neck that barely had any sleeves at all. 

Carol said impatiently, "I can turn around if you want, but you've got nothing that I'm interested in seeing. Come on now, Barnes. We haven't got all night."

Bucky changed his pants and put on the black shirt. He combed out his hair while Carol examined his scruff, finally deciding it would have to do.

"Where exactly are we going?" Bucky asked.

"You're crashing a birthday party at a lesbian bar with me. One of my mentees just turned twenty-one and our lady superhero gang of friends is celebrating. They're all very nice people and they'll all interact with you or leave you alone as you need them to. I know we're ancient but they'll be expecting us to keep up so be prepared to be out dancing until dawn."

Bucky grumbled, "I don't know what Sam told you, but I'm fine, I don't need to be babysat. You go and just have fun."

Carol's face softened slightly. "Barnes, I get it. I get the whole brain washed hero forced to fight for the wrong side and losing your family because of it thing. I went through the whole one who got away thing too. Sure, you're fine, but you could be doing a whole lot better. Sam probably wanted me to be the sort of friend who talks out feelings and cries but I'm not. I'm someone who goes dancing. And I think you might be too. So what do you say? You want to dance with me?"

Bucky smiled weakly. "Yeah, I think I do." 

*****

Bucky shouldn't have been able to get drunk but he still felt drunk in the most pleasant sort of way. He loved all of these people so much. He loved Carol. He loved the young superheroes who looked up to her, all perfectly capable of saving the world on their own. Especially America Chavez, the birthday girl so clearly in love with her straight best friend. He wanted to hug the feisty ill-tempered little lesbian and adopt her as his own. But Patsy and Jen and Kamala and just...oh, they were all so wonderful. And Carol's daughter, Monica, weirdly the same age as her, but just a delightful human being. There was someone else...Doreen? Was that right? He couldn't remember but she was such a weird kid, such a wonderfully weird kid. 

Maybe the serum was wearing off. Or maybe after a bottle and a half of whiskey he was could actually get blitzed. That was good to know.

At closing time, Carol gave Monica a long hug, waved goodbye, and brought Bucky back to the townhouse on her motorcycle. Bucky hung on, resting his head on her shoulder. 

It was maybe three in the morning when they got home. Sam wasn't there, which they both took to be a good sign. Carol helped Bucky back to bed and tucked him in like he wasn't decades older than her.

"You have fun, Barnes?" She asked.

Bucky nodded, barely able to keep his eyes open. "Thanks, Danvers. I needed that."

Carol sat down on the floor beside the bed and Bucky turned to look at her. 

Carol said softly, "I know I said I'm not the feelings type but if you ever do want to talk, we can talk. Like I said, I'm around for a few more days."

Bucky hesitated and asked, "What did you mean before, when you said you got the whole one who got away thing? Did you mean Monica's other parent?"

Carol sighed and laughed weakly. "See, I wasn't a superhero when Maria and I got together. I had no idea that I wasn't going to be even in the same galaxy to watch my baby girl grow up or go old and grey beside my wife. Maria...she's always going to be the love of my life. Always. There's no one else for me. But she deserves to be happy and she is. She remarried. I met Helen. She's a good woman. She did well by Maria and Monica. And I've dated here and there over the years but...you know, I'm always going to love her most. But sometimes we don't end up with the loves of our lives. Sometimes those people belong with other people. And then...then we move on. Then we find other ways to make it all work out, you know?"

Bucky admitted, "No, no I don't know." 

Carol squeezed his shoulder. "I've had thirty years to get to that place. I'm good with it, I really am. There's another side to what you're feeling. Just try to survive and maybe even thrive a little until you make it through." 

Bucky murmured, "Do you ever...do you ever think about going to her? Do you ever think about begging? Even if it's too late?"

Carol hesitated and then admitted, "Every day, but it becomes more and more just a daydream. But what we have now is more important. She's still my best friend and the mother of my kid. I couldn't have that if I wasn't able to let go of what could have been. Or at least...I know that rationally. I do. But sometimes it's like she's right there and she's not going to be there forever. Even if it's not a long time, sometimes...I don't know, Barnes. I just know that I'm glad I have her, even if it's not the way I wanted to be with her. And that's okay. It's okay. I just had to find another way to be happy." 

Bean entered the room, chirping. Carol stroked him as he passed by her, jumping up on the bed to lie in the crook of Bucky's arm.

Carol rose. "Goodnight, Barnes."

"Goodnight, Danvers."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this scene between Sam and Bucky was actually my homework for the dialogue episode of "Start With This", which I'm sure other writers working along might recognize. Also, I'm Canadian so I nearly had a hungover Sam trying to open a bag of milk which I personally think is much funnier.

Sam stumbled into the kitchen the next morning, muttering gratefully for the freshly brewed coffee and the toast and jam waiting for him. He opened up the fridge to grab milk for his drink, taking far too long how to open the carton.

Bucky asked, "Put the milk on the table, would you? I'm almost finished making oatmeal."

"Oatmeal?" Sam teased. "So you really are a hundred years old, aren't you?"

Bucky shrugged. "It's good. You could start eating breakfast for real, you know. You're going to have to start hitting the gym twice as hard. You'll need the calories. I could do you up a bigger thing. Eggs, bacon, whatever."

Sam laughed. "Next week. I think I can only handle toast right now. I drank just a bit too much last night. The restaurant had an excellent wine selection and I was trying to keep pace with Daphne. She drank me under the table. How are you doing? Carol texted me to let me know she got you home safe. She said you were hammered."

"I heal quickly."

Sam's smile faltered a little. "Yeah. I guess I take a little longer, don't I?"

Bucky pulled the oatmeal off the stove and ladled himself a bowl. He poured in some milk before putting it back in the fridge. He stirred it in with some brown sugar and sat down beside Sam. Bucky waited for Sam to speak.

Sam asked, "Do you think Steve made a mistake picking me? I'm just a guy. I could get blown out the of the sky and fall and crack my head open. You survived falling off a train in the mountains. You'd be a better superhero than me."

Bucky hesitated before putting his hand on Sam's. "You're good in a fight and you're careful. You got all the pieces that really matter, Sam. You don't need to be superhuman. You just need to be a leader and you're going to be great at it. We are really only at the beginning, you know? It's going to take time to get used to it but eventually you're going to see what the rest of us see in you."

Sam pulled away sheepishly. "Right, any more pep talk and you're going to make me blush. Go eat your oatmeal, old man."

*****

It was weird wearing a suit but he was supposed to be inconspicuous. Captain America wasn't supposed to need a bodyguard. He was supposed to be there as his friend and as Sam joked, his platonic date. Things had gone well with the redhead but a massive charity ball with a highly scrutinized superhero might have been a bit too much. Pepper had warned them that people would be watching Sam carefully, waiting for him to mess up. 

She also warned him not to go on any social media, just so he couldn't read what people were writing about him. Bucky had attempted to do so just to tease Sam with the best of the thirst posts but instead he had stumbled upon something else. People thought that Sam and Bucky were dating. Not a big deal, really, except the assholes had more ammunition against Sam. What really bothered Bucky was that there were jokes at his own expense. Apparently the Internet had agreed that Bucky had a Captain America fetish and was a "big gay hoe" for anyone with the shield. 

Sam thought that was hilarious and threatened to call him BGH for the rest of his life. If Bucky wasn't there to protect him, he might have decked him himself.

Once dinner was served, Pepper Potts took the stage. The room was near silent as she gave her speech about - something - Bucky still wasn't sure what the charity was. Then she called on Sam to come forward, the audience still applauding from her words. Sam went to the podium, touching Bucky's shoulder to tell him to keep sitting. Bucky glanced over to Carol, who had currently stuck forks in two dinner rolls and was amusing Morgan by making them tap dance. Bucky stood and went to the back of the room, keeping his eye on Sam while scanning through the audience. 

He noticed her first because she looked like Natalia. The same even cool stare under pressure. She was young; she couldn't be more than fourteen. He saw her hand on her pocketbook, gripping it slightly too hard. The girl saw Bucky notice her, but she didn't flinch or startle. She returned to her conversation with the girl beside her. 

Bucky returned to scanning the room but his gaze returned to her once more. Bucky watched her rise to her feet, excusing herself to the washroom. Bucky watched her out of the corner of his eye as she left quickly. When she started running, he chased after her. 

The girl was fast, faster than him, and was quickly up the stairs and out the door to the rooftop. Bucky followed, hearing her call on some device for an extraction. He burst through the door and before he could even say a word, she pulled the gun from her pocketbook and shot him straight through the chest. 

Bucky felt the bullet break through his heart. He fell to his knees, pressing his hand to his chest, willing himself to keep breathing. He was a few seconds from shock and a few seconds after that, he'd black out and if no one found him, he wasn't going to wake up. 

He was strangely calm, cognitively aware he got one final moment to reflect before dying. This wasn't so bad, really. It almost didn't hurt. It just felt...

His mind turned to Steve beneath him, broken and bloody, offering his life to him. It blended into their almost kiss. It blended into their childhood roughhousing. It blended into his dreams. A man willing to die rather than hurt him, promising to protect him for the rest of his life. Promising him forever. 

Bucky didn't want his last thoughts to be of Steve but everything always came back to him. It was always him. It was always going to be him. He understood Carol then. He understood what she was trying to say to him. 

He slumped to the ground, his vision darkening. He took a shaky gasp before rolling onto his back and closing his eyes. He whispered, "I'm sorry." 

*****

Bucky hadn't expected to wake up and yet he did, his chest hurting like a mule had kicked through it. He opened his eyes slowly and froze, seeing the man asleep in the chair beside him. He hadn't seen Steve this close since he had returned. He looked like him, there was no doubt it was him. He was older, sure, but he was.... softer. Gentler. Not that the fight had been kicked out of him but that he had just let it go. He was content. He was happy. 

"Steve," Bucky croaked.

Steve woke, blinking as he saw Bucky reaching to him. Steve took his hand in his and Bucky felt a rush of relief. He was here. It wasn't the way he wanted to be with him, but Steve was here and Bucky wasn't letting him go again. 

"Buck," Steve whispered. "Thank God. You're okay. You're really okay."

"Sam?"

"He's fine," Steve assured. "You scared the assassin off before she could do anything. He's safe, just worried about you." 

"I'm sorry," Bucky pleaded. "I should have gone to see you."

Steve murmured, "Bucky, I was just trying to give you space. I needed you to come to me when you were ready and you weren't ready. Oh Buck, there's so much I need to tell you but I just...I wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you so badly and I've had so long to think of what to say and I still...God, if I had lost you without telling you... I've missed you. I've missed you so much. Every day. Every goddamn day."

"I've missed you too," Bucky confessed. "I can't do this anymore. I need to be your friend again."

Steve hung his head. "I wasn't...I wasn't planning...I need to tell you the truth. The truth about everything. I don't want to lie anymore, not to you. I owe you that. But if you're not ready, if you can't hear it yet, it can wait. Just know I'm not going to keep anything from you anymore." 

Bucky squeezed his hand. "Tell me." 

"I messed up, Bucky, on our mission all those years ago. I warned everyone not to interact with their past selves, to just stay out of the way. But then a just de-iced, pissed off version of me had me in a chokehold and I said the one thing I thought might save me. I told him you were alive. And I saw his face, Buck. I thought he'd flinch. I thought maybe he'd laugh. Just something to give me a second of advantage over him. But he just let go of me, real gently. Then I knew I had messed up. He was...I was...not confused but just a wreck. I knocked him out but I knew he'd remember. I knew it'd haunt him. I knew he'd leave the Avengers and go and find you. So I needed to figure out a way to fix it, to somehow make that Steve Rogers have that exact reaction but also for him to let it go. I thought about it from every single angle I could. But then I came up with a plan and it...God, when I figured it out, I felt so guilty. I could have everything. I could...I could be with Peggy. I could have the life I wanted and fix the mistakes I had made, all of them. But I had to...Bucky, I had to do something I'm not proud of. I did a lot of good, but...there's something I need to tell you, something you need to know." 

Bucky asked cautiously, "What exactly did you do, Steve?"

Steve swallowed hard and began to explain.


	5. Chapter 5

_April 2012 - B_

He woke up, gasping for breath, reaching for the controls, only to find he was in bed. A radio played a baseball game, but it was one he had been to years before. He glanced around more, taking in the scene, before a man entered the room. He was familiar, but not quite. Like he had passed him in a crowded room and had forgotten until right now.

He asked the stranger who he was and the amusement in his eyes faded. 

The stranger said softly, "I'm Steve Rogers."

The man in the bed looked into his own blue eyes and shook his head, refusing.

"No, no, no, this doesn't make any sense. What trick is this? What's going on?"

Steve comforted, "I know this is going to be difficult to understand, but we'll work through it together. It's going to be okay, son."

"Tell me what's going on, now," he demanded. "Now."

Steve asked gently, "What's the last thing you remember?"

The man frowned, letting it slowly come back to him. "The Valkyrie. I crashed the plane. I was drowning...Peggy, I was talking to Peggy."

Steve explained softly, "That did happen to me, many years ago. It seems like earlier today because those were the last memories I had before HYDRA found me. They took a sample of my DNA and they made you. I escaped. Before they fell, they froze you until they were ready to use you as a weapon against me. You've been encased in a cyro chamber for all of your life until this moment. We didn't have the technology to free you sooner. I'm sorry, son. I know this is a lot to take in."

The man leaned over the side of the bed and vomited hard. Steve sat behind him, rubbing his back like he was a sick child. The man felt it then, the strangeness of his own touch, and he felt sick again. He vomited more water until there was nothing left in him. He shivered and Steve draped a blanket around his shoulders.

"Who am I then?" He whispered. "Just your clone?"

Steve smiled softly. "I've been calling you Grant in my head for a very long time. It's our middle name. I thought...I thought it might be nice to use that, just so we can tell the two of us apart. Would that be okay?"

The man agreed tiredly. "Okay."

"SHIELD wants to keep you here to observe you but I've pestered them for years about this moment. I was hoping you'd might like to come home. It might be a bit easier to get used to things in a more familiar place. What that be alright, Grant?"

Grant wanted to throw up again but instead he nodded.

*****

Grant didn't accept it until he saw Peggy. Peggy was ninety years old and unlike Steve, she looked it. Her eyes and smile were just as bright but she was so different than when he had known her. She was a lot gentler, comfortable after a long happy life with a wonderful family. Peggy was the one who showed Grant the family photo albums. They had four kids, ten grandchildren, and two great-grandchildren. Grant sat beside her, examining pages upon pages of someone else's life. He saw himself - Steve at least - growing older. There were some photos from their days at SHIELD together and Grant witnessed their successful careers. Mixed within all those were photos of friends and family throughout the years. There was no real order to it, which Peggy apologized for, but it would have been a blur to Grant either way.

Then there was one photo and Grant's fingers instantly went to it, attempting to peel the plastic away and hold it in his hand. Peggy placed her hand on his to still it and then gently took the picture out and gave it to him. Grant held it, trembling. It was a picture of Steve and Bucky at a reunion with the rest of their squad. The date was marked 1955. Bucky was supposed to have been dead a decade before. 

Peggy explained, "Steve rescued Bucky from a HYDRA prison camp a few years after you were created. They were best friends for the rest of his life, with a few hiccups here and there."

Grant whispered hoarsely, "He's dead?"

"Yes, almost fifteen years ago now. Lung cancer. I'm sorry, Grant."

Grant started crying, the first time since he had woken up. Peggy put her arm around him and murmured the same soft things she probably had told her children when they were upset. It all hit him then. None of it had been real. They were being kind to him, kinder than they had any right to be. He was a fake, a being made of scraps from a real hero. But it had felt so much like the truth. It felt as if something had been stolen from him. He had a meaningless past and no future to find. He had nothing. He had absolutely nothing. 

"It will be okay," Peggy promised. "You'll see. It will be okay."

Grant didn't believe her but he didn't disagree. He just let her hold him. 

*****

He had never known Bucky. Bucky had never held his hand. Bucky had never looked into his eyes. Bucky's lips had never brushed his fevered forehead. All of it was a fake; all of it was another man's memories and feelings. It was a dissection. A program encoded in him. He wasn't Steve Rogers and he had never met Bucky Barnes. But he longed for him. He mourned for him. He wanted him so badly that sometimes he couldn't breathe. Maybe Steve had forgotten what it felt like, the weeks after Bucky's apparent death. Maybe Steve didn't remember after so many years, but Grant couldn't understand that. It felt like the pain was never going away. It felt like the pain was going to kill him. And for him it wasn't even real. It was a dream of a science experiment, sleeping in the ice for decades, only finally born long enough after it was needed. Only to be born and realize what it truly was.

Bucky would have been disgusted with him. Bucky would have hated him. He would have wanted to destroy him and Grant would have let him. Anything for him to get to see him one more time, for the first time. Anything to hear his voice. 

How had Steve been able to walk away from that? Grant knew what it felt like to love Peggy, to love the possibility of a life together. The almost. The what if. Maybe if it had been like it was now, if it was safe, then...or maybe not. It was hard to know anything any more. And wouldn't it have hurt just as much to have had Bucky sit on the bed beside him that night? Would he then just pine for Peggy? God, he didn't know. He didn't know anything. All he felt was just was...honestly, he didn't know that either. He wasn't sure there was a word for this loneliness. 

He couldn't stay here. He couldn't live with Steve and Peggy in their home. But he had nowhere to go, especially not with SHIELD keeping such a close eye on him. He said so to Steve and the old man smiled wistfully.

"I've already phoned my godson," Steve said. "He's got spare living quarters for you in Manhattan. He'll ask you a thousand questions and probably say some very unkind things about your origins, but he's a good kid."

"He knows what I am?" Grant asked. 

Steve nodded. "Tony knows everything SHIELD does. They've been trying to recruit him for years now. I think you'd get along with him quite well. He can be a bit...much, but you can trust him. I promise."

"I don't know if I can trust anything anymore," Grant admitted. 

Steve took his hands in his and said, "This is the beginning of your life, Grant. Trust yourself. You'll become your own man in time too. Just do the best you can. I've waited so long to finally meet you, Grant, and I can't wait to see who you'll become. I'm here. Whenever you need me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally only going to publish two chapters today but the second one got split because who doesn't love a cliffhanger?


	6. Chapter 6

The first dream of Grant's life was of Bucky. They were in a field of long grass under a hot summer sun. The trees were vibrant green, swaying in the cool breeze. Grant was small, like he had been before the serum - or no, he had never been so small. That made sense. Steve Rogers had been colourblind before the treatment. Grant never had been. 

Bucky was sitting under a tree, pen in hand and letter pad on thigh, seemingly unaware of Grant's presence. It was an old oak tree, a dark streak through its bark from where lightning had struck it. Grant recognized it from Bucky's letters when he was training in Wisconsin. This was where Bucky always wrote to him.

To Steve. Not him. Steve. He had to remember that. 

Bucky wrote like a fiend, the nib scratching the paper. He kept going, even as Grant approached him, kneeling before him and putting his hands on Bucky's knees.

Only when Grant said his name did Bucky look up and smile. Grant picked up the paper, seeing it was a letter addressed to him. It was somehow already censored, black bars hiding Bucky's words. Grant folded it and put it in Bucky's breast pocket. His fingers lingered over the heavy fabric, so sure he had touched it before.

Bucky cupped Grant's face in his hand, his thumb brushing against his lip. Grant trembled as he looked up at him.

Grant said Bucky's name once more before he bent down and pressed his lips to his. Grant moaned against his mouth, pulling him closer to him. Bucky brought him into his lap, holding his hips protectively. 

Bucky whispered into his ear. "I'm here, sweetheart. I'm here."

Grant woke with a gasp, sitting straight up in his bed. He put his hand over his racing heart, his face flush and hot. Was he seriously having sex dreams now? What sort of sick joke had HYDRA implanted in him? Surely this hadn't been a priority when they were programming him.

Grant went to the bathroom and hopped into the shower, running it cold as possible. He pressed his hand against the wall, letting the freezing water stream down his back. Grant let out a shaky breath as his body relaxed again. Even as he tried to let memory go, he found himself touching his lips, remembering that kiss. 

If Grant's memories of Steve's life were accurate, none of that had ever happened. There wasn't much more than a few shared looks, the odd flirty joke, maybe an embrace or two that felt almost too intimate. They were Steve's desires, not his, and it was hard to comprehend that. Not when they felt so real. Not when Steve was so happily married to someone else. Bucky had been his best man at his wedding. They looked so overjoyed in their pictures together that day. Had something changed after Steve survived the unsurvivable at HYDRA's hands? Had it just been a crush that had faded with age? Or had Steve quietly pined for his best friend until the day he died, not saying a single word to even Bucky? 

Grant couldn't ask Steve. He just couldn't. Not when it had all been so long ago for him. Not with Bucky a decade and a half gone. Not when Steve was so clearly besotted with his wife. No. It would be unfair to drag it all back out just because of a dream. Just a dream.

*****

Grant sat across from an incredibly striking woman in her early fifties. Tony had made a sly comment about the leader of the Avengers being a "silver fox" but Grant still found himself a little awe struck in the presence of Janet van Dyne.

She reviewed the files before her, glancing up at Grant occasionally with a nod. Eventually she put down the folder, letting it lay on her desk. Grant could see some of it but a great deal of it was in Russian.

"I've worked quite closely with Captain Rogers over the years," Janet said. "I am quite aware of his strength and abilities as well as his selfless nature. It makes a great deal of sense to have you on our team as his substitute now that he has retired from the field. You appear to have his strategic mind and the same physical enhancements. But..."

"But you don't know if you can trust me," Grant concluded.

Janet said, "It's not like we've never had anyone with a...complicated history before and it's not as if I'm handing you the keys to the whole facility and telling you to run wild. From all the neural scans we have conducted, I don't believe we have anything to worry about in terms of HYDRA implanting you with a triggered code phrase or a control device of some kind. Steve has strongly vouched for you and I think I'd actually offend him quite a bit if I refused your acceptance. But I want to know what you want. Is this the sort of thing that would interest you?"

Grant admitted, "I think it's the sort of thing I have to do. The fact that I exist at all was because of the torture and violation of a very good man. I'd like to attempt to make amends for that. I think I can best thank Steve for my life by doing the same work that he did. But I want to earn your trust in me for yourself, ma'am. I appreciate Steve stepping up for me, but I want to be here as my own man."

Janet agreed, "I wouldn't have it any other way. Now, there will be the issue of your public identity. Steve is a beloved icon and the image of Captain America is a strong one in our nation's imagination. You could take the title if you wished but my suggestion would be a new identity entirely. We have a costumer, Ronnie, on site who will be working with you. She's very good at crafting a character out of who you really are. If you like, we can get your measurements taken this afternoon."

"So...I'm an Avenger?"

Janet chuckled. "Yes, Mr. Rogers, you are an Avenger, if you'd like to be one. Our East Coast office is a little light these days and I would be very happy to have you on our team. Do you accept?"

She offered her hand and Grant shook it gratefully. 

"Now, I'd love to show you around the facility but I do have quite a few other meetings today. Mr. Stark will handle your orientation. I believe you know him from sleeping in his guest room. If you'd like to wait outside, he'll be here shortly. I look forward to working with you, Mr. Rogers."

"O'Donnell," Grant said quickly. "I've decided to go by Grant O'Donnell. It was my - I mean - Steve's mother's maiden name. Just to make it easier for everyone." 

Janet raised an eyebrow and crossed something out in his file. Grant left and went back to reception. True to her word, Tony showed up a minute later.

"It go well, clonesicle? Great. Come on then."

Grant followed behind him as Tony explained, "This is the East Coast Avengers headquarters, led by Janet van Dyne also known as the Wasp. We have another unit in San Francisco known as the West Coast Avengers. They're headed by Hope van Dyne, also known as Wasp - it gets confusing. She's like twenty-eight or something and a huge badass. You'd like her. Or she'd scare the crap out of you. We've got a few people in Canada, we call them the Great Lakes Avengers but they're weird so I like to pretend they don't exist."

"Van Dyne mentioned there's not a lot of people on the East Coast team."

Tony agreed, "Yeah, we've had some retirements and there's a lot of independents in town doing their own thing. New York's a big city. Everyone in a cape thinks they can save it by themselves. I get it. Right now, we're at six. Sort of seven."

"Sort of?"

"Depends if you count the Hulk twice. I would. First, you've already me. Iron Man. Flies around in a big metal suit. The unofficial leader to be of this party once Wasp hands over the reins."

"What is she planning on doing after?"

"Managing all of us," Tony said. "We're technically the second East Coast unit, all new recruits. The other group is much more flashy, frontline. They've got Monica Rambeau aka Photon for their fearless leader. Most of them are women, all in their late twenties, early thirties sort of thing. We're a little more...miscellaneous."

Tony led him into a common room where a man, a woman, and a young girl were on some sort of video console playing - honestly, Grant had no idea what it was. He had just learned video games were a thing six days ago, courtesy of the youngest of Steve's grandchildren. 

Tony introduced, "This is Natasha - Black Widow. Rescued from a Soviet super spy program when she was six and raised by Nick Fury on this side. That's Clint - Hawkeye - a super archer and his apprentice Kate, who's only ten and shouldn't be here but we're going to look the other way this time on that one."

Kate waved and Hawkeye put her hand down, giving her a look. She signed something to him and he laughed, signing something back. Natasha shook Grant's hand in introduction, still playing with her other hand on her controller. 

Tony took Grant upstairs and into a lab. A middle-aged man was sitting at a computer monitor, squinting. Tony handed the scientist the glasses resting on the top of his head. 

Tony presented, "And this is Dr. Bruce Banner aka the Hulk. Well, he's not the Hulk. He's just got a big green menace sitting in his chest, waiting to come out whenever danger is about. You'll meet him another day."

Bruce shook Grant's hand. "A pleasure to meet you. I've read all the files on your case. It's incredible. Humanity has barely succeeded in cloning technology in the past few decades and here you are, a stable subject from the Second World War."

"Yep," Grant agreed sheepishly. "Here I am."

"Grant is joining the team," Tony announced. "I'm off to tell Thor we're replacing him with a younger blonde hunk." 

"Have you shown Grant the suit yet?"

Tony glared at Bruce. "It's not ready yet. Ronnie is making him one. Because he's not going to be Captain America, remember?"

"Oh come on," Bruce teased. "You put in all that work. It'd be a shame not to show it off." 

Tony grumbled, "Quit it, you're embarrassing me in front of the evil clone." 

"What suit?" Grant asked.

Bruce grinned, clearly enjoying his friend's discomfort. "When you came out of the ice, Tony started on a Cap suit for you. It's adorable. It's got little ears and everything."

"Okay, it was a prototype and it was for a laugh," Tony insisted, "and we're not showing it to anyone ever again."

Grant tried not to smile. "Of course, I'll pretend I know nothing about it."

"See? He knows how to be a polite human being. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a demi-God to tease mercilessly."

Tony pushed Grant out of the room and up another level to the rooftop. A very handsome man sat on the edge, looking up at the sky. His red cape gently rustled in the breeze and his long blonde hair swept around his face.

Tony called out, "Thor, you still wallowing in self pity or you up for a visit?" 

Thor turned around and grinned upon seeing Grant. "Our newest companion. Come, sit with me, if you are not afraid of heights. I promise if you slip I will ensure you do fall to your death."

Grant did so, looking out across the fields to the skyline of New York City. 

Tony called out, "When you're done your male bonding moment, send him to Ronnie, won't you? I've got to go do some work. You know, actually make money. Support all of us. Not just be handsome and broody."

"I will ensure he sees her," Thor replied. 

Grant glanced over at Tony as he went back inside. He looked back at the city.

"How do you fair?" Thor asked. "I imagine your adjustment has been difficult."

"A little," Grant admitted. "Not as bad as you, probably. At least this is my planet. Stark's been talking about you all week, you know. He's excited to have an alien on the team, even if it's only until you find your brother." 

"Perhaps longer," Thor said. "I find myself...encouraged to stay for a time, once I return Loki to Asgard. At least I hope I am able to do so."

Grant said softly, "I'm sorry. Family can be...complicated."

Thor nodded solemnly. "Indeed."

They sat quietly for a long time and Grant felt his chest slowly relax. After awhile, Thor patted him on the back and rose to his feet. He offered Grant his hand and helped him to stand.

"It will be alright for us both," Thor promised. "All things ease in time and you have had very little time to understand your nature. Learn that and you will understand the rest."

*****

Grant was getting ready for bed when his phone rang. He picked it up right away, half hoping it was Janet telling him to get prep for his first mission. Instead, he heard Peggy asking him excitedly how his day went.

Grant smiled, putting his toothbrush away. He sat on his bed, telling Peggy all about the other Avengers, about the headquarters, about Janet. In turn, she started telling him about her great-grandson's first steps that very afternoon and how she was so excited that two of her boys had such momentous days. Grant closed his eyes, comforted by her voice. He was drifting off when she said good night and he heard Steve's voice instead.

"How was everyone?" Steve asked. "Everyone doing well?"

Grant replied, "Yeah, I like them. They're a good crew. We had dinner tonight. Tony invited them over to his place. I had sushi. I've never had that before. It's...different. Not what I would ever have thought to eat but it was nice. Very...delicate."

Steve laughed. "I had it for the first time somewhere in the early 80s at some diplomatic dinner. I didn't know at the time that the fish had gone bad and I thought that was just how it was supposed to taste. I was sick as a dog. Poor Peggy stayed up all night with me while it all came back up. I guess even the serum doesn't prevent food poisoning." 

Grant chuckled. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

There was a lull and Grant waited, expecting Steve to say goodnight. 

Instead Steve asked, "How are you feeling about all this? I don't want you to rush into anything you're not ready for."

"No, I'm fine," Grant promised. "It's good, really. My gear's going to be ready sometime next week. Ronnie's working on a "character" for me since I'm not going to be Captain America. A lot of her ideas are a bit much for me."

Grant could practically hear Steve frowning. "You're not picking up the shield?"

Grant explained, "I don't want to tarnish your legacy and I don't deserve it. I'm just there to serve, not be a symbol. I hope I haven't offended you."

Steve didn't say anything for a long time but Grant could hear him breathing.

Finally Steve said, "No, I'm not offended. I just want you to really think about it. It's your legacy too. You shouldn't have to give it up just because people don't understand who you really are."

Grant refused quietly, "I'm not you."

Steve replied gently, "You're a lot more like me than you think you are."

Grant insisted, "Maybe, but I'm not you and pretending I am only makes all of it harder for me. I'm not you. I need to remember that. Otherwise the memories..."

Grant sighed. "Otherwise it's all going to break my heart."

Steve said, "Just because it didn't happen to you doesn't mean it wasn't real, son. I lived it all too. I know there's...there's a lot of darkness in there. You don't have to bear it alone. I'm here." 

There was another long pause as Grant considered how he wanted to ask his question. He had decided before he shouldn't but in that moment he felt safe enough to talk to Steve about anything. 

Grant admitted, "I've been having these dreams. About Bucky."

Grant could hear Steve's breath catch but Steve said nothing.

Grant continued quickly, worried he'd lose his nerve. "They're...romantic dreams. I know nothing happened between the two of you and I know it's just some childhood crush encoded in me but I just can't shake them. I know I never knew him, but sometimes it's hard to remember that. It's easier with Peggy. She's right there. I can talk to her. She's different than my memories of her. She's real. She's...I guess I can sort of accept that she's not mine and that she had a happily ever after with you. I'm not bitter about it or even sad about it. I could let it go because the truth was right in front of me. I could see it wasn't real."

Steve sighed. "But you never got that closure with him."

"Yeah," Grant agreed. "I just wish...I just wish I could have met him. Just once. Then I could just let it all go. You've been so kind and so open with me but Peggy told me you don't like talking about him and I don't want to hurt you. But I need to know.... I need to know if it was real."

"How I felt about him?" 

Grant swallowed hard. "Yeah."

Steve murmured, "Hold on, I've got to sit down for this."

The line was quiet for a moment before Steve returned, the line clicking slightly. He had switched receivers, going into another room in the house. Had he not wanted Peggy to overhear this conversation? 

Steve admitted, "I had feelings for him when we were young, but I never acted on them. You know what it was like then so I don't have to explain why. He was gay but I wasn't. I liked girls too. I figured it'd go away eventually. Then the war happened and we didn't see each other for a few years. I met Peggy and I fell in love with her. I knew she was the one. Then things...God, Grant, the end of the war was a nightmare. I thought Bucky was dead. Then I was captured and tortured, the whole time promising myself that if I could ever get back to Peggy, I'd never let her go. By the time I managed to rescue Bucky, I'd already asked her to marry me. When I found him and I saw him again, I knew I had made the right choice. The way I loved him wasn't the way I loved her. It got a lot easier after I figured that out. He was my best friend until the end of the line. I miss him so much. I don't...I don't know what to tell you, Grant. He was happy. He was basically married to a man for twenty-five years and they were very much in love. They raised his partner's nephew together and Bucky adored him like a son. I wish you could have met them both, seen how they were together. I know it would be easier to understand then."

Grant felt tears stream down his face and he knew if he said anything he would break into heavy sobbing. 

Steve concluded, "I don't know if that helps, Grant. I don't know what to say to make it easier except it everything worked out for both of us in the end. You could meet his nephew if you wanted. He might be able to tell you more about his day-to-day life. Do you think that might help?"

Grant barely managed to speak. "No, I don't think it will."

Steve sighed. "I thought not. It'll pass, Grant. I promise."

Grant said goodnight and hung up the phone. He sat on the edge, pulling his legs up to his chest. He rested his arms on his knees and buried his face in them.

What had he wanted to hear? What could Steve have possibly said that would make it hurt less? How could he have comforted him? 

But at least now he knew. Steve wasn't in love with Bucky, just had a crush on him as a young man. Even if Bucky had loved Steve, he had moved on long before his death. That was it. There was nothing more to the story than that.

But still Grant's throat felt tight and the tears still fell down his face. 

It wasn't real. He had to remember it wasn't real. 

He still dreamed of him that night, this time in the near monochromatic colours of his pre-serum vision. The subtlest tinges of blues and yellows. He had always been able to see the blue in Bucky's eyes, even if the shades were lost on him. 

They were in their apartment, hands clasped together as Bucky led him in a slow two-step. Bucky smiled, lighting up the room around them. Grant rested his hand on Bucky's chest, feeling his racing heartbeat under his fingers. 

Grant wanted to tell him that he loved him, but what did it matter? What would change if he said it aloud, even if just in this fantasy? Or was it a memory? Bucky had taught him how to dance, hadn't he? He had. He was sure of that.

Not him. Steve. Grant had never touched Bucky, never mind held him like this. 

Grant whispered, "I have to let you go, Buck."

Bucky touched his face and Grant shivered, pressing into his hand.

"I'm here, sweetheart," Bucky murmured. "I'm right here."

Grant hung his head. God, how he wished that was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you can't use the tailor from Gwenpool in your fic, then what are you doing in your writing career?


	7. Chapter 7

Four days later, the world was about to end and Grant found himself on a plane to Germany to fight a demi-god. His tactical suit was only half done, giving him the choice to run around in a black chest plate and jeans or to wear the gear that Tony had made for him. 

Since Janet was stuck in San Francisco and Tony was now panicking at being suddenly the man in charge, Grant thought it would be best not to make a big deal and just wear the Captain America outfit. There were aliens invading the planet. No one was going to really be concerned about his appearance.

To Grant's pleasant shock, they did end up winning the day. Loki was captured alive. The giant wormhole was closed. Tony seemed more surprised than anyone that his death-defying stunt had actually worked. So surprised he wasn't even bragging about it.

The joyful mood was quickly ended when Tony fell, clutching his chest. Chaos broke as all scrambled to save Tony and to chase Loki. Grant couldn't recall exactly how he ended up on glass bridge, only that he did. When he saw himself across it, he knew it had to be Loki. Grant had just seen the villain’s impression of him and the stranger was clearly taking off with the scepter. 

Grant fought him for it, but Loki knew his every move. They broke through the glass, landing hard on the ground below. Grant froze, seeing Steve's compass roll from Loki's pocket, opening to reveal Peggy's picture.

Grant picked it up, demanding, "Where did you get this?"

Loki didn't answer, only throwing them both back into battle. They struggled until Grant got him in a headlock, strangling him on the floor. 

Then in painful gasps, Loki hissed, "Bucky...is...alive."

Suddenly nothing else mattered. Grant loosened his grip and let him go. Grant tried to speak, barely getting out a "How" before Loki punched him in the face. Grant rolled and jumped to his feet. He lunged but the power of the mind stone reached him first, stopping him cold.

He knew the stone's power. He knew it could wipe every memory of this encounter. But he refused. Even as he thudded to the ground, he repeated it to himself, determined. He would remember. He wouldn't forget what Loki had said. _Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive. Bucky is alive._

Grant stirred with a splitting headache. He rolled onto his back, blinking. Natasha stood before him, offering her hand. She helped him to his feet. 

"You okay?" She asked. 

_Bucky is alive._

Grant said, "I need to go. I need to go to DC right now."

Natasha argued, "Hang on, you have a concussion. Doctor first." 

"Nat, it's important," Grant insisted. "Trust me. I'm fine. Your bike is still in the garage downstairs, right? Can I borrow it? I don't have time to get to mine." 

She hesitated before tossing him the keys to her motorcycle. "Be careful. If either of you get a scratch, I'm going to be real pissed off." 

*****

Grant banged on the door, not caring how late it was. A very grouchy Peggy answered, glaring at him before letting him inside. She called for Steve and a few minutes later the aged former Captain America was downstairs in his housecoat, kissing his wife goodnight and apologizing for the intrusion.

Steve gestured for Grant to follow him and they entered the living room. 

"I was expecting you awhile ago," Steve commented, "though I imagine the drive took longer than it normally does considering the clean up. Did you at least get dinner with the rest of them? That was the best shawarma I ever had, I hope you didn't miss out on it."

Grant questioned angrily, "Is Bucky alive?"

Steve went to the liquor cabinet and poured them both a drink. "Sit down, Grant."

Grant demanded, "Is Bucky alive?"

Steve held out the finger of whiskey to him. "Take it. You're going to need it."

Grant did and sat down across from Steve. Steve smiled wistfully to himself.

"You know, I had decades to prepare for this conversation and right now I feel like I'm starting from scratch," Steve admitted. "Take a drink, Grant. Give me a second to figure out how to say this."

Grant did, still glaring at him as he did.

Steve took his own swig, emptying the glass in one go. He took a deep breath.

Steve began, "You're not my clone. You're me. Or more appropriately, I'm you."

Grant's heart stopped. "What are you talking about?"

Steve explained, "I'm from the year 2023 in a universe parallel to yours. I came back in time as part of a mission to reverse a genocide in my timeline. While I was here, I interacted with you and changed your timeline. That was who you fought today. Not Loki. Me. And while you were choking me to death, I told you something I shouldn't have because I knew it was the only thing that would stop you."

Grant remained silent as Steve continued, "When our battle was won, I volunteered to go back in time to fix what we had changed but I knew I couldn't fix this timeline. I knew you. I knew that you weren't going to rest easy until you found Bucky and you'd screw things up. So I made a decision. It was selfish, honestly, I won't lie about that. I saw a chance for me to go back and live a life with Peggy. And when I started thinking about it, I realized there was a lot of good I could do for this timeline. I'd already changed one thing - a big thing - and I was young and stupid and thought I was smart enough to change this world all for the better. So I came back for our dance with Peggy and I lived my life out here. She married someone else in my timeline and had another man's kids. It was selfish of me to interfere but..."

Steve poured himself another drink, drank it, and brought the bottle back with him. 

Steve started again, "In my universe, Bucky was kidnapped by HYDRA and turned into an assassin called the Winter Soldier. He was frozen on and off and brainwashed until he remembered nothing. I did a lot of terrible things to rescue him and keep him safe only to lose him again. There was a war and we lost. We lost half the population. Just...gone. Just ash. Five years later, we were able to restore everything but not at the right time. Everyone who came back...for them it was just a second but for the rest of us, half a decade had gone by. I was too broken by then. I couldn't be the man I wanted to be. The man everyone needed me to be. I wanted to start over and I had a chance. I could finally know the answer to "what if?" and I knew I had a duty to fix the damage I had done here." 

Steve continued, "When I came back, I claimed that I had been kidnapped by HYDRA and tortured for six months. I planted documents that would suggest when we found you that you were a clone HYDRA had created of me. I tried to keep you hidden as long as I could because I knew you weren't ready to wake up again until this year. Some of SHIELD wanted you destroyed but I convinced them that since you had all of my memories, you were essentially just a younger version of me. You could be used by our side, not theirs."

Steve concluded, "Then I did everything I could to change this world for the better without affecting our mission in the future. I just needed to make sure a few things happened. The rest didn't matter. Just as long as the Infinity Stones were in the right place at the right time and you were where you were supposed to be." 

Grant drank his glass and two more before he replied, trying to comprehend what to ask first out of a million questions he had. He rubbed his temples as Steve came over to sit beside him. 

Steve said softly, "I'm sorry I couldn't tell you before. I wanted to, but I couldn't risk changing your reaction today. I needed to be able to win that fight and keep you unconscious long enough to take the Mind Stone and put it back. It's hard for me to remember exactly how I felt eighty years ago. But I know I would have been really pissed off. And I would want to know what happens next. I did everything I could to make this timeline better, but you're the hero now, not me. I can advise you the best I can if you want that. I want to be here for you, Grant."

Grant managed to ask, "What about Bucky? Your Bucky?"

Steve admitted, "I told him what I was doing and I asked him to come with me. We didn't end on great terms. He wanted a future together and I...I couldn't. I wasn't the man he knew anymore and I was so tired. I just wanted to be home. I gave up everything so I could just come home. I thought it would be enough, rescuing the Bucky from this universe, letting him live a good life. Your Bucky, he was my best friend. I miss him every day, but he wasn't the person I had left behind. My Bucky...God, I miss him too. I didn't know how hard it would be to miss them both."

Grant accused, pushing him away, "You lied to me. You used me. You've been using me for eighty years. You took my life. You took everything and left me nothing." 

Steve hung his head as Grant rose, storming over to the window. He wanted so badly to punch something, anything, and it took everything in him for it to not be Steve. Grant rested his head against the pane of glass, closing his eyes.

"Does she know?" Grant asked hoarsely. 

Steve confirmed, "Yes. Both her and Bucky. I thought it wasn't only fair. They needed to know who I really was. I couldn't live with myself otherwise."

"But you can live with yourself now?" Grant interrogated, whipping back to face him. "You can justify everything you've done to me? You've lied to everyone. Everyone on this planet thinks you're a hero but you're a fraud. You aren't who they think you are. You've made yourself a new universe, just the way you wanted it to be, claiming you did for the greater good but you did it for you. You've done everything for you."

Grant's rage crumbled as he considered their conversation, mere days ago. "You told me it wasn't real. You told me the way I felt about Bucky wasn't real. But you were in love with him. _I_ was in love with him. You told me to trust you. You told me you would help me. You said you'd be there for me."

Steve pleaded, "Grant, I never wanted to hurt you. I thought about this for so long. I couldn't leave this timeline as it was. There's still work to do and I need your help to do it. But I had to keep you in the dark until now. Your reaction had to be exactly like it was. I had to make sure you felt the way you felt today. I'm so sorry."

Grant argued, "There had to be another way."

"Maybe," Steve confessed, "but I wanted this life. I've made a lot of mistakes. I had the chance to fix them. This timeline was already so altered with everything we had done to it. I needed to stabilize it. I needed to mend it. Everything else...I had nearly a century worth of knowledge. I could fix everything, as long as certain things happened as they did. Wouldn't you be tempted? Maybe not. You were right. We're not the same man. We haven't been for a very, very long time. But I remember what it was like to be in love with Bucky Barnes. I would have burned the universe down around me to protect him. If I had left things as they were, you would have left the Avengers and spent the rest of your life trying to find him. And they need you, Grant. Loki never escaped with the Tesseract in my timeline and we need control of all of the Infinity Stones or this universe will suffer the same fate as mine. There is so much I know about the years ahead. So much I can tell you. I can advise you. We can make this world even better together. You don't know how this world once was. You have no idea how much humanity or the people we love suffered. We can stop it. We can stop Thanos. You and me. I need your help, Grant. I know you'll probably do the right thing just of your own volition, but if you agree to help, there is something I can offer you in return." 

"There's nothing I want from you," Grant murmured. "You have nothing to give me."

"I think there is. I stole your future so it's only fair you get mine. My world is a mess, Grant, but it could be yours. My plan was always that when the time came, I would go back one last time and pass the shield on to Sam. God, you haven't met Sam yet, but you're going to love him. I'm an old man already so I don't know how much time I have, but I want to spend it here with my family. This is my world now. But it doesn't have to be yours. You can take my place in my timeline and no one will know. You can be with Bucky. He's not going to be who you think he is. He's wounded in more ways than one. There are flashes of the man you know but there's a lot of scar tissue. It's not much to offer you, a world that has already gone through its apocalypse, but it's a world that has Bucky Barnes in it."

Logically, Grant knew he shouldn't trust a word Steve had just said. He had been lying to him from the very beginning. He had manipulated his entire life. But what he was offering...hadn't Grant already accepted it when he let who he thought was Loki go? Hadn't Grant already given up doing the right thing just hearing Bucky's name? 

Steve said softly, "Listen to me, Grant. There is no one else in this world who knows you better than I do but even I don't know who you're going to become. The next decade was hard, harder than you can possibly imagine. But we can make it a little easier for everyone. And when it's over...my universe can survive without you as Captain America. It's going to have an amazing one. But it could use a Steve Rogers. If you want to be him." 

"Just like that? I step in where you leave?"

"Maybe not right away," Steve admitted. "I imagine Bucky is going to be pretty pissed off at me and that world needs a bit of time to settle. But when I return from putting things in order, you can decide then. You've got a long time, Grant. Your life could change a hundred times over in the next eleven years. You might meet someone else. You might get married here, have children. A life of your own."

"But until then, you'll withhold your time travel tech so I'll do what you want?"

Steve shook his head. "It's not like that, Grant. It's not a threat. It's a peace offering." 

Grant had felt his world shatter when he was defrosted and told he wasn't who he thought he was. This was the second time in as many months his entire reality had changed. He didn't know what to do or say. All he wanted, more than anything, was to cry and not stop crying. 

Steve said gently, "It's late. Stay over tonight. Get some sleep. This is a lot to take in and you shouldn't do it driving. We can talk in the morning. Or whenever you're ready. Come on, I've set the guest room up already for you. Go rest." 

Of all the things to finally break him, it was the fact Steve was so sure he was coming that he had made the bed for him. Grant said nothing as he left the room, sure if he opened his mouth, he'd only start screaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so legit at the end of this, I suddenly remembered that Steve says "Hail Hydra" in that elevator in 2012 and thought "wait, wouldn't he have to ensure that still happened? is Hydra still around? what?" and then I decided that was a problem for future me if that ever comes up. Also, I hate that scene so maybe we'll just pretend it didn't happen. Also I've seen Endgame only once so I tried my best.


	8. Chapter 8

Grant stayed awake all night in the Carter-Rogers' guest room, sitting on the edge of the bed. His cellphone's screen lit up a dozen times but he ignored it. Sometime near dawn, Peggy came and sat beside him, taking his hand in hers. It was a strange feeling. He had been so in love with her once. The woman beside him had been so kind to him. He had thought her a saint for treating the product of evil as she would a son. Now he understood. She hadn't fallen in love with the man she had ended up marrying. It was him. Or it was both of them. He couldn't...

He broke into sobs again and Peggy held him, burying her face in his shoulder. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you," she whispered. "I wanted to every day. But it will be all right. It'll be easier now. We'll both be here for you, as long as we can. It'll be okay, Steve. I promise."

He flinched at the name.

"I'm not him," he murmured.

"No," she agreed softly. "You're not." 

Peggy hesitated before reaching into her housecoat and pulling out a small leather bound book. She pressed it into his hands. 

"What is this?" Grant asked, frowning.

Peggy murmured, "Bucky gave it to me just before he died. He wrote you letters, maybe 200 over the years. He wrote them all in this journal, knowing he wouldn't live long enough to see you. He asked me to keep it safe for you, for when the time came. When you woke, I was so tempted to give it to you, but Bucky made me swear to him I wouldn't. He trusted Steve's judgment, even when I doubted it." 

"Did you ever read it?"

Peggy admitted, "Yes, about eight years ago. I thought I needed to know, in case there was something that would upset you. I wanted to be there for you, no matter what happened. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have. It was meant for you." 

Grant opened the notebook, seeing a faded date of 1947. He closed it again and held it to his chest. Peggy touched his cheek before leaving the room, closing the door behind her.

Grant spent the entire night reading the journal. Most years had at least one letter, even if just a few lines. Bucky didn't speak of his day to day life, but wrote of big life changes: new relationships, new jobs, new homes and all the things one would tell to a friend after a great deal of time apart. 

Grant watched Bucky live his life within a few hours, heartbroken when it winded to a close. Through it all, Grant learned two things. The first was that while Bucky was grateful to have Steve save him, he had never fully forgiven him for leaving Grant in the ice and abandoning his timeline for theirs. The second thing, the thing that hurt worse than anything else, was that Bucky had been in love with him. From the moment they met until the day he died, Bucky had been in love with him and knew that while Grant - his Steve - was alive, Bucky would never see him again. That had been the trade. A life free of HYDRA for a life without the man he loved. And Bucky wasn't sure if it had been worth it. 

Grant had spent the rest of Bucky's life asleep, not knowing he was right there, his fingers on the glass that held him, an old man watching him with tears in his eyes, knowing a deep dark secret he couldn't share with a soul. 

Then tucked between the last pages, there was an unattached piece of paper. It took Grant a moment to realize what it was, but by that point he couldn't stop reading. Bucky's last letter wasn't for him. It was for the other Bucky. 

_February 01 1998_

_I'm writing this to you looking at an old picture of us. Jesus. I can't believe I was ever that young and cute. Though you're maybe in your late thirties now so maybe you'd be thinking the same thing looking at this. This is the last picture before you and I split and became different people. This is right before we fall off the train and you become you and I become me. Steve's explained this quantum shit to me a hundred times but I never really got it. But from what I get, you go on to become this HYDRA assassin frozen on and off for decades and your Steve basically ruins everything for everyone trying to save you from yourself. He's told me a bit about what you're like but I told him I didn't want to hear much. I hope you're not too offended by that. It hurts my head, honestly, and it's better for Steve if he tries to stick to the present. There's only two of us who know about the whole time travel thing, Peggy and me. It's better to keep it that way. The less people who know about popping in and out of other alternative universes, the less of a headache we all get. _

_I'm not doing too well these days. I've got lung cancer and my doctor says I've only got a month or two left in me. I'm okay with that though. I made it to 80, not too shabby considering, and I've had a good run. I'm hoping to make it to 81 at least, better if I get to see the summer. I did okay though. I met a guy in 1970. Jim. I dated other guys, but he was the one. You'll make fun of me because he was a lot younger and we had the same first name, though I always kept going by Bucky. I was in my early fifties and he was in his twenties. I outlived him though, as shitty as that is, but we had almost 25 years together. We raised his nephew together. I'm told you know him in that timeline. I hope he's less trouble for you than he was for me, but Steve's told me he's making him Captain America in your world. I think he made up his mind before that, but I'm sure seeing Sam get up to all sorts of trouble fixed it for him. He's as much of a punk as we were at his age and don't let him tell you any different. _

_I know you're pissed at Steve. At least I would be and I was when he told me way back. I wasn't thrilled at having a different Steve in my life but we made it work. And you know what, I think in the end it worked out okay. We were both happy. I think what I've learned is that we have a hundred different chances at being happy, not just one. It could have worked out so many ways and some of them might have been better. Maybe there was one where it was me and Steve together but then I would never have met Jim or had Sam. _

_I'm trying to figure out how to say this without being a patronizing idiot. I know you've had a hell of a time and I don't blame you for staying angry. It might just me being an old man with too much time on my hands, but I think I've figured it out. I don't think I was ever supposed to end up with my Steve Rogers. I was in love with him so I expect you still are too. But I was happy, really happy and so was your Steve. This is where he needed to be._

_But there's a Steve in the ice now, waiting to wake up. Steve tells me it'll be a decade or so until it happens and I know I won't live to see it. I've visited him a few times though. It was like something finally was real, like something just clicked into place. I was pissed at your Steve for a long time after that, for taking him away from me, but we moved past it in time. Steve told me his plans for him and I expect he'll give you this letter if he acts on it. I hope he does. How many people get to talk to their younger selves? _

_I told you before I figured it out, well here is what I figure. I think that guy in the ice is waiting for you. He's waiting for someone to tell him that you're still alive and then he's going to do anything and everything to find his way to you. I could be wrong. I don't know what sort of man that punk in the ice is going to be like. Maybe he's an asshole. We both know your Steve can be one. But I think he's going to go left where your Steve went right. I think this Steve is meant to be with you. _

_I'm jealous, you know. It sounds like 2023 is a lot nicer time for guys like us. It wasn't an easy life for me and Jim, but we were happy. You're going to be happy someday too. So don't be too pissed off at our Steve. He's a dick, but he's our dick, so try to go easy on him if you can. If you can't, I don't blame you. Just try. _

_I don't know what else to say. I guess I just want you to know that whatever happens, you're going to be all right, Bucky Barnes. You're going to be all right. I know I'm never going to meet you, but I want you to know that I've always been thinking about you and that I love you, as sappy as that is. Find a way to be happy, whatever that looks like, and you take care of Sam for me. _

_-JBB_

Grant cried until there was nothing left in him. He fell asleep near dawn, clutching the journal to his chest. Peggy had probably come in at some point, putting the book on the end table and tucking the blanket in around him. 

Grant lay there, knowing he had a choice to make. He could walk out the front door, pretend that none of this happened, and get back to the life he was starting to make for himself. Or he could go out the back and talk to Steve. The man who had lied to him. The man who had lied to everyone. The stranger who had taken Grant's life and left him under the ice, all for one moment, all for ten seconds, just so Grant could lose a fight. So when Grant heard Bucky was alive, he was willing to let Loki go, to let him live, instead of doing his duty. 

Hadn't he already made that choice? Hadn't he already chosen Bucky?

Grant went out the back door where Steve knelt in the garden. The interloper looked up at him, waiting. Grant knelt down beside him.

Grant asked, "So what happens next to the Avengers?" 

Steve smiled. "You might want to grab a pen." 

*****

"You're really making me wish I didn't quit drinking," Tony muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, you're the real Steve. Not him. The whole clone thing is bullshit and I discovered time travel. I'm also dead in his universe because of that asshole I hallucinated about yesterday. Great. Just great."

"Should have I not told you?" Grant asked.

Tony shook his head. "No, I'm glad you did. Jesus. So he's holding the suit over you because he thinks you're going to bail. Are you going to? You going to go back to his past and steal his girl? It'd be kind of hilarious. It'd make another alternate universe and after awhile we could have hundreds of Steve Rogers marrying hundreds of Peggy Carters while hundreds of other Steve Rogers get trapped under ice. The possibility boggles the mind. So what are you so desperate to switch over for?" 

Grant confessed, "Bucky. In his 2023, Bucky is still alive." 

"The sniper from your unit? Isn't he your age? Or was, he's dead I thought. I'm pretty sure I went to his funeral but that was in the nineties and I don't remember most of that decade." 

Grant clarified, "In Steve's timeline, he was captured by HYDRA and brainwashed. He was given serum like mine and he was frozen between the assassinations he was forced to do. He's probably late thirties, early forties when Steve left." 

"How exactly was he captured?"

"He fell from a train when we were in a mountain pass."

"And he just...lived from that?"

Grant said, "He lost his left arm. HYDRA replaced it with a mechanical one." 

Tony chuckled in surprise. "Wow, I was going to joke about darkest timeline shit but that's...that's pretty bad. So you want to pull a reverse Steve then. Instead of going back for Peggy, you're going forward for him."

"Something like that," Grant agreed. 

"I don't know if anyone is worth giving up that much for, even a best friend or a girlfriend or something," Tony admitted. "I like Peggy. I've always liked Peggy. But Steve got the better end of the deal. He got to go back and fix a lot of bad shit. You'd be going into some dystopic nightmare. Just because everyone shows back up again doesn't mean it's all fine now. Those five years will have screwed up everything, especially if half the population didn't live through them and just showed up again. Plus, apparently your childhood best friend became a brainwashed assassin with a metal arm and probably massive PTSD. This is pretty much the opposite of a happy ending, Grant. I don't know if you've clued in on this, but he's the bad guy in this scenario, not you. You deserve better than his leftovers."

Grant's throat was almost too tight to speak. "I don't care."

Tony finally understood. "Right. Not just a Band of Brothers thing. Jesus, you're really in love with him."

Grant couldn't say it aloud but Tony seemed to understand.

Tony suggested, "Isn't Steve like a hundred years old? We could probably just take the suit from him. We wouldn't even have to fight him, we'd just have to wait until _Wheel of Fortune_ comes on and he gets distracted."

"We're not stealing time travel technology from Captain America," Grant lectured. 

"Hey, you're the real Cap, not him. Can you even steal something from yourself? Look, maybe he's a big ass hero, but he's blackmailing you to stay on as an Avenger for a decade and then throwing you into another timeline so people don't wonder what happened to him. He's using you, not helping you."

"You don't understand," Grant insisted. "He's trying to do the right thing. He's already done so much good for the world. He's trying to keep doing it as long as he can. He wants to help and we should help him." 

Tony's eyebrows jumped up and he sat on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. Tony seemed to consider this for a moment, looking Grant up and down and looking for a long time like he was on the verge of making a joke.

Finally Grant said, "I know you figured out how to do it before, but I don't think any good is going to come of us having that tech. Steve was lucky it didn't get into the wrong hands all these years. I'm willing to play along. I just...I thought you deserved to know the truth. I can't tell the whole team because the more people who know, the more danger we're all in. But you took a chance on me and I thought you should be able to decide if I'm still worth having around."

Tony asked, "What happens in 2023 if you want to stay?"

Grant shrugged. "I guess I'll have to deal with that if we all live that long. We're in uncharted waters now. Anything could happen."

Tony was silent for a long time before finally conceding, "Okay. Okay, we'll work with Steve. He's probably got some good dirt on whatever our next adventure is. But you got to promise me something, Rogers."

Grant looked back up at him. "Anything, Tony."

"You try your damnest to get over him," Tony insisted. " You do anything you can to move on. I'm not letting you throw away your life for anything other than true, undying love. I'm not kidding. You go out and kiss every pretty thing you see. You go out on a hundred blind dates. I'll set us up on a double date tonight. And don't pull some stubborn shit holding out because you want to prove me wrong. I want you to try. Make a sincere effort to get over him and we'll play nice with Steve. Deal?"

Grant offered his hand. "Deal."

Tony shook it. "Don't make me regret this, Cap."

"Don't call me that," Grant corrected. "I'm not Captain America. Not in this world." 

Tony pulled out his phone and brought up footage from the battle. Grant was standing near a pile of broken concrete. He was tossing chunks of it away by hand, lifting heavy slabs so paramedics could pull out injured civilians. The red, white, and blue of his uniform shone through the debris. Grant's voice rang above the noise of the battle around him, calming the trapped building workers, promising he was going to get each one of them out alive. 

Tony smirked. "See, for these people, you are. Keep the suit, Grant. We'll figure out a story for the people but they're not going to care if you come out of a test tube. They know what they're looking at. They're looking at Captain America."

Grant took the phone, holding it gently in his hands as the next video auto-loaded. This one was titled **CAP'AMERICA??@??:0:0:0** and featured Grant literally carrying a baby out of a burning building and handing them to their sobbing parent. 

Tony took the phone. "Don't read the comments on that one. I have to agree with most of them though. That suit does nothing for your ass."


	9. Chapter 9

_2016 - B _

Steve predicted a great many things that would happen in Grant's life. Everyone but Tony believed strongly in Grant's gut feelings, having no idea that his decisions were usually made in consultation with his other self. Steve warned about Ultron and the project was ended before it could begin. HYDRA hadn't infiltrated SHIELD decades before and there was no Winter Soldier to hunt down. There were issues in Asgard - Steve had never been really clear on what had happened in Thor's life and could only provide so much help. Because of this, Grant made it to space a lot earlier in life than Steve did. There were adventures chasing down the Tesseract and Loki. There were collaborations with Captain Marvel. All of these things Steve predicted or at least had insight on.

The first true surprise was Bernie.

Grant had moved to an apartment in Brooklyn Heights in 2014, two years to the day after he came out of the ice. He had enjoyed living with the other Avengers, but he needed a place to be alone from time to time. He needed his own home.

When Grant met Bernie Rosenthal a few months later, she had no idea who he was. They passed each other in their building's lobby a few times before Bernie approached him and asked him out for coffee. Grant had gone out on a few dates, at Tony's insistence, but he was usually forced to go out to them. Grant found himself actually a little excited to get to know her better. There was something about her that he couldn't quite place, but he badly wanted to know what it was.

Bernie's life was nothing like his own. She was a businesswoman and a fantastic glassblower. Their third date had been at her studio and Grant had sat in awe watching her work. It was delicate and volatile. Sometimes things just shattered. Sometimes they became the most amazing creations. If he had to guess when he had first fallen in love with her, it would have been there in that studio. 

Grant took it slow, somewhat out of necessity. He was gone a lot and she was incredibly busy. But whenever they did find time for each other, it was magical. Grant had been in love before, but this was different. This felt like they were in one of her glass baubles together, sheltered from the outside world, and just a little heat away from breaking apart.

And heat was certainly a problem. Bernie was gorgeous and she was a very modern woman. She had made a pass at him on their first date and Grant had gone so scarlet red she considered phoning for an ambulance. It wasn't like sex hadn't been invented yet in the 30's and 40's. It was just.... before he had gone into the ice, he had not expected to have sex until he was married. It wasn't terribly uncommon then and despite everything he was still Catholic. Bernie on the other hand was a Jewish feminist and had few qualms when it came to sex. But the longer they dated, the more Grant felt certain he wanted to abstain. It was maybe a little foolish but it felt like the one thing he could have control over in his life. He could wait for marriage, hopefully with her. 

Marriage would prove to be a real possibility by their first anniversary. It wouldn't be exactly easy for the two of them to get hitched, if they decided to. For one, there was the issue of who exactly would marry them and where. Religion wasn't really an issue between them. Grant would read somewhere that the most common interfaith marriage was a Jewish-Catholic one. It would be more of a problem if they ever had kids. And kids were the bigger problem. 

Steve had children. Grant had met all of them so Grant knew that the effects of the serum could be passed on. Both of Steve's daughters had demolished Olympic records, one as a runner and the other in javelin. One of his sons was a decorated military man and the other had spent most of his youth as a boxer before becoming a very, very successful fire fighter. Any one of them, or their own children, could have become an Avenger but Steve had fought against it and made it a priority to keep them out of the spotlight. But Grant knew that wasn't possible in the same way it had been in the 1950's. Any kid he would have would be immediately known about. Bernie was at risk as it was. Anyone could have tried to hurt her to get to him, but Bernie at least was a grown woman who could hold her own. He still had nightmares regardless, terrible nightmares of what his enemies would do to Bernie and to their children. 

Grant had told Bernie all of his fears and she had addressed them all logically, like he knew she would. It should have reassured him but it only made one last problem sink harder into his chest. He told her everything, he always made sure she knew everything, but there was one thing he couldn't tell her. Grant couldn't tell her who he really was and it ate at him. He couldn't marry her without her knowing the truth but he couldn't tell her the truth until he was sure they would get married. He loved her, he truly loved her, but he had trouble being fully there with her. It was hard to allow himself to be completely free with her. Part of it was because of his decision to sexually abstain, which did place some stress on them both. But part was that his mind so often drifted to somebody else. It was unfair to promise her forever when he was waiting for a chance to see Bucky again. He wanted to tell her so, for her to understand why he was hesitant because it wasn't about her. She was incredible. She was brilliant. She was funny and tough and beautiful. She was headstrong, so headstrong they fought like cats and dogs sometimes. But they understood each other deeply and Grant had no doubt that she loved him as much as he loved her.

That was what made it so hard when Bernie asked him to marry her. Because he wanted to say yes. He wanted to bring her into his arms and kiss her and tell her how truly happy he was. How truly blessed he was to have found her. 

But instead he brought her hands in his, kissed them, and said he needed time to think. Instead he went on his bike and rode down the highway, feeling unsure at first where to go. There were only two people he could talk to and he knew what both of them would say. Both of them would tell him to turn around, go back to Bernie, and say yes. One of them would just do it a lot nicer than the other. 

So instead Grant sought out the only other woman he had ever loved and hoped that she would have a better answer for him. 

*****

Peggy had always known that one day she would have Alzheimer's. She had made her peace with it in her forties, got riled about it again in her sixties, and somewhere in her eighties accepted it once more. When Grant met her again in 2012, she was starting to show symptoms but she was doing everything she could to keep it at bay.

Now 94, Peggy was slipping further into the fog. She had more good days than bad and she was still at home and comfortable. On her bad days, she was more confused than irritable. She had trouble remembering where she was in her life but could be easily redirected by her photo albums and sensory books. 

But in the past five weeks, she couldn't have both Steve and Grant in the same room with her. Her mind had too much trouble distinguishing them and she would confuse the truth with the lie. Grant was her Steve and her husband an interloper or the opposite. Or it was decades past and she was with Steve and would be distraught when Grant would pull away. It was too hard for her and Grant had reluctantly begun to agree that it might be best if he stayed away.

It was early in the morning but Peggy was already out in her garden. One of her grandchildren had made her a soft cushion that helped her stay low to the ground without hurting her knees. She was resting comfortably against it, her big hat covering her face, humming an old show tune to herself.

Peggy saw Grant at the end of the path and she smiled, beaming up at him.

"Grant," she greeted. "Come help me with these weeds, would you? I seem to have left that...that thingie, oh you know what I mean."

She made a gesture that meant the extractor Tony had made for her. Grant wasn't sure what it was called either. 

He knelt down beside her and followed her instructions on which weeds to dig out while she trimmed and watered the other plants.

"Is it afternoon now or are you here early?" Peggy asked.

"It's just after eight now," Grant said. "I drove around the city for awhile before I came over. I wasn't sure when you'd be up."

"And if Steve would be awake too," Peggy commented. "I know he thinks I can't hear him on the phone with you, but I know you two have been arguing about seeing me. I'm glad you're here, Grant. I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," Grant replied. 

"So why have you risked the wrath of Steve Rogers today? I imagine it must be something important to keep you up all night."

Grant said, "Bernie asked me to marry her."

Peggy beamed. "Good for her. You know she came to visit last week to ask for my blessing. I'm afraid I had no memory of who she was at the time but Bridget explained it all to me later and I phoned her back to tell her to go for it."

Peggy's smile faded. "But if you're here...you didn't say yes, did you?"

"Not yet," Grant admitted. "I told her I needed to think about it."

Peggy chuckled. "That is probably worse than a no, but I remember saying the same thing to Steve a lifetime ago. It's a lot to consider, choosing one person for all of your life. It wasn't an easy decision, but I'm glad I made the right one."

"What made you decide to marry him?"

Peggy considered this for a moment and then said, "I've never told Steve this, but I looked up the man I married in his timeline. Daniel. I took him out for lunch, made up some excuse about it being a job interview for SHIELD or something. We had a pleasant afternoon together. I could see it then, me and him. I had this sense of this whole other life we had together. We would have been very good together I think. But I had to lose Steve to have it and I didn't. It just wouldn't have worked, not in the same way. I wasn't the person who fell in love with Daniel."

"But you still didn't have to pick Steve."

"No," Peggy agreed. "I didn't choose Steve because I had no other option. I realized then that I had plenty of options. There could be another man that I fell in love with. I could have a different life. But I had the opportunity for a life with Steve, one that I was never supposed to have. I chose him because I wanted to marry him. No other factors. Because I wanted him."

"But weren't you upset?"

Peggy admitted, "Probably, but it was a long time ago now. It's hard to remember." 

Grant sighed. "So what do I do?"

Peggy put down her tools and turned to look at him. "What are you asking me, Grant? What are you really asking?"

Grant admitted, "I don't want it to be her or Bucky. I want to pick Bernie because I love Bernie. But I don't think I can before I see Bucky and it's not fair to make her wait two years, especially when I can't tell her why, and I can't agree to marry her if I think that I might leave her for someone else and-"

Peggy put her fingers to his lips and murmured softly, "You're giving me a headache, Steve. A little slower."

_Steve._ Maybe just a slip, but he had to be quick, to make sure they were in a good place if she started to fade again.

Grant asked, "How do I know if I should get married?"

Peggy laughed. "You know because you want to."

Grant heard the screen door open and he turned, seeing Steve in his housecoat. Peggy beamed at the sight of him and opened her arms to him. Steve helped her to her feet and kissed her forehead. He put his arm protectively around her.

Peggy seemed to forget Grant's presence entirely, snuggling into Steve. He brought her back into the house, holding her so gently. He returned a few moments later, his kind demeanor breaking as his eyes met Grant's.

Steve began coolly, "I thought we agreed-"

Grant put his hands up. "I know, I know. I just really needed to see her. I'm sorry." 

Steve sighed. "She told me about Bernie. I thought...I hoped you'd be happy. You look like hell, Grant. You drive all night?"

Grant nodded. "Yeah. I'm okay though. I can make it back."

Steve shook his head. "I'm not kicking you out. I just wish you'd come to me. She's fragile, Grant. We've got to do what's best for her."

Grant felt his cheeks grow red. "I'm really sorry."

Steve said, "It's okay. Come on inside."

Grant refused, "No. I don't want to upset her. I'll go."

Steve grasped his shoulder. "Stay. We need to talk about this."

Grant followed him inside and into Steve's study. It was normally locked and Grant had only been in it a handful of times. Steve poured them both a cup of coffee and sat down in his worn chair. Grant sat across from him, holding the mug in both hands.

Grant said quietly, "I want to see Bucky."

Steve shook his head. "Not yet."

"Why not?" Grant asked. 

"Not until Thanos has been found and defeated," Steve said firmly. "We had a deal."

"I'll come back," Grant promised. "I will. I just need to see him, just one last time. Please. Just let me see him. It's been four years and I've never asked before and if you let me, I'll never ask again. Please. I just need to know he's okay. I need to know that..."

Grant felt his throat tightened and Steve finished, "That you're making the right choice. I told you, Grant. This is the timeline you want to be in. You can go to him if you want, but this is where you're supposed to be. I'm the one out of place, not you."

"Then I need to tell Bernie," Grant countered. "That's your choice. Either you let me see Bucky or I tell Bernie everything and let her decide for herself. I'm not going into this marriage lying to her. So you pick, Steve. Do you want to risk me breaking my word or risk her telling the entire world who you really are?"

"I know you, Grant, better than you know yourself. We're not honourable men when it comes to the people we love. I know that you're going to tell Bernie the truth no matter what happens. So tell her. See what she says. Let her make her choice. If you trust her, I trust her."

Their eyes met and Grant shivered, seeing his own intense blue staring back at him. 

The phone began to ring. It continued to ring for what seemed like an eternity before Steve picked it up and answered. His face softened, the same way it did when he was speaking to any of his children. He handed the phone over to Grant and mouthed, "Tony."

Grant barely got out a hello before Tony explained rapidly, "Hi, so SHIELD just got it's entire system hacked by the Royalist Forces of America and apparently these assholes just set off something called a Madbomb off at the United Nations because literally everyone is now fighting and punching each other. Mind coming home real quick, Orphan Black?"

"I'm on my way," Grant promised.

Grant apologized to Steve, "Sorry, I've go to go." 

Steve waved him off. "Go on. We'll talk later."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so proud to have technically won a Hugo for this work and all the other junk I've put on this website. Good job, team.


	10. Chapter 10

**cn: the villains in this arc are white supremacists - there is a black man in danger and nonsense about eugenics but I've tried to keep it as mild as possible.**

The effects of the bomb had mostly dissipated by the time that Grant got there but there were still a few ambassadors bickering amongst themselves. Grant went over to Natasha who was deep in conversation with Agent 13. Grant's niece. Sort of. Steve had explained it all once to him but it was pretty gross so Grant tried to forget it. Sharon, on the other hand, was not thrilled about her uncle's supposedly evil clone and made sure he knew that in every encounter they had. 

"We find the weapon yet?" Grant asked.

Sharon answered, "Stark's got it in the lab now. He and Banner are dissecting it as we speak. You here for security detail or to give an inspirational speech?"

Natasha muttered something to her in Russian, probably to be nice to him. 

Natasha then said in English, "You should go see them. The last time we let them play on the computer together we nearly had an AI take over the world. I'll get you over comm if there's anything here."

Grant rode over the tower and went up the long elevator to Tony's lab. He came in to see Bruce sitting in a chair, frowning deeply while Tony was hurriedly thinking aloud, his hands moving just as quickly.

"So what happened?" Grant asked.

Bruce explained, "Looks like a neurotoxin bomb. Anyone who gets exposed to it has their aggression dialed up to eleven. We were lucky it was a subcommittee working on their terms of reference. Someone might have gotten stabbed if it was something important."

Tony corrected, "Someone did get stabbed. People take their founding documents seriously. Looks like the group that set it off is your usual white supremacist garbage. Make people kill each other off, the strongest will survive, humanity is better for it blah blah blah. I can show you the video they sent but there's a lot of language in it that had me riled up. I can't imagine how'd you react being the spokesman for truth, justice, and the American way."

"I think you might be thinking of someone else on that one," Grant commented. "So what was this? A test? A warning?"

"A warning," Bruce argued. "They've made their agenda clear and their weapon seems to work. There was a timer on this one so it only went off for thirty minutes. At that point, the hackers released the system to us."

"They only shared their goals? That's it?"

Tony asked, "Banner, give us a minute?"

Bruce left and once he had shut the door behind him, Tony brought up the video. He skipped through most of it, reminding him it was all white supremacist garbage. 

_"Thanos will take the wheat from the shaft. Shed the lesser half, take them from reality, destroy them, and let us bring forward a new Empire in their ashes! Power to the powerful! Death to the weak!"_

Grant reminded, "There are some people who know about Thanos already. Someone could have told someone and-"

_"Let it start in this city. Let each man face his peer and let the stronger live. I challenge you, Steve Rogers! Face me and let us see who prospers._

Suddenly on the screen there was a black man in worn fatigues tied to a chair. He was nearly twenty years older than the last picture Grant had seen of him, but he knew exactly who it was. Sam Wilson. The future Captain America was tied and gagged with a gun pressed to his temple. 

_"Face me or watch him die. You have five hours, Captain. You'll find me in _all the old familiar places_."_

"How long do I have now?" Grant demanded. 

"A little under two." 

"Shit," Grant growled. "You couldn't mention this over the phone?"

"Cap, there's only supposed to be four of us who know who Sam is," Tony said. "So either sweet old Ma and Pa Carter-Rogers accidentally spilled to someone or one of us majorly messed up. I wasn't going to announce to every person tapping Steve's phone that the future Captain America was kidnapped by terrorists. And where exactly does he want you to meet him? Because I have no idea what he means." 

It took Grant a second but then the memory hit him like a truck. No. How could they know about that? How could anyone know about that? 

"He means the apartment Bucky and I had in Red Hook," Grant said. "That's where he taught me how to dance. It was the only record we owned, we had sold off all our other ones. But we kept that one."

It was in the last letter, the one in the back of the journal written a few days before he died. _I'll be looking at the moon, but I'll be seeing you._

Grant growled, "I don't know who this guy is, but I'm not letting him get away with this. I'm going to Red Hook. Now."

"Not alone you're not," Tony countered. "You know he's going to use it on you and you're probably going to end up killing someone. Maybe even one of them. I'm going with you."

"Tony-"

"No, don't _Tony_ me. Get on your bike, I'll follow in a suit. Get going." 

Grant did as he asked, speeding down the streets to get to Brooklyn. He knew the way home, even after all these years. The only question was what he would find there. 

*****

The building was under construction, apartments being remodeled as condos. Grant broke in through a first floor window and climbed in. He made his way up the interior staircases to the fifth floor, listening to the comm in his ear for Tony but hearing nothing. What he did hear were the footsteps of others hidden behind every apartment door, presumably other Royalists, waiting for the order to strike. 

Grant opened the door to their unit, his hand trembling. He was immediately grabbed and frisked for weapons by a pair of men in black. Grant kept his hands up, looking straight ahead into what was left of his old living room. Every wall had multiple soldiers, all with their guns pointed straight at Grant. In the center of the room, Sam was tied to a chair. Sam saw Grant and his eyes widened. Sam glanced over the window and Grant looked to see a man dressed like a Revolutionary War Redcoat. Grant raised an eyebrow skeptically as the man turned to face him, frowning. 

"Captain," he greeted. "Forgive me if I seem a little disappointed. I expected to see you in your propagandist regalia. It is a shame for you to meet your fate in jeans and a t-shirt. Pity."

"Who are you?" Grant demanded. 

"My name is William Taurey and I am the leader of Royalist Forces of America. I believe I covered all of this in my hostage video." 

"I skipped most of it but I got the basics," Grant said coolly. "You want the strong to kill off the weak because you think it'll make a better world. And of course, the strong being people just like you, right? I've met men before who believe in the grand destiny of the Aryan race and I've crushed each one of them under my boot."

"Strong words from the product of eugenics research. You intrigue me, Captain, taking such a stance against the very thing that makes you great. You don't have to pretend with me. The original Steve Rogers was born a sickly runt, someone who should have been left to the elements. It was not his Irish blood that made him strong. It made him weak. He should not have been allowed to live long enough to become the same specimen as you."

Grant growled, "The original Steve Rogers would have knocked you out cold by now, asthmatic or not. Tell me why I shouldn't do the same."

Taurey pulled out a silver pill, no bigger than a peanut. He held it in the palm of his hand and looked down at it with amusement. 

"You intrigue me, Captain," Taurey said, glancing back up at him. "You are in the way of my mission to rid this country of its filth. But you may also be the key to saving our nation from those who would taint it. I want to offer you a gift. Immunity to the Madbomb in exchange for your loyalty to our cause. Soon we strike and even you will be carried away in the insanity. Who will you hurt before the madness fades? Who will you kill?"

Grant tried to meet Sam's eyes but he looked down at his feet. 

"It is not hard to drive a man insane, Captain," Taurey continued. "You need only show him the truth. The Madbomb gives it to him. It reveals what lurks in every mind. The knowledge of what humanity is: an apex predator who must continuously dominate in order to survive. And with that truth comes a revealed consciousness, an understanding of all things known but not comprehended. The truth in all forms. There are things we choose not to understand because they hurt us. We could not remain for the same mate for decades if we did not look the other way. The Madbomb removes that possibility. It shows all things clearly."

"I know who I am," Grant insisted. "I have no secrets from myself."

"I was not speaking of you, dear Captain," Taurey replied coolly. 

Taurey moved to Sam's side and looked up at Grant, smirking. 

"Sam Wilson," Taurey said. "Oh, your dear Sam. You've stayed far from him to protect him, but not far enough. He always knew, deep down. We've only helped him bring the truth to the surface. A man sees a thousand hints and by themselves they mean nothing. But we have ways of making all things come together. Sam idolized the uncle who took him in. Sam's very model of love was based on Jim's relationship with his partner, who nursed him through his final days. A partner with the same name as his uncle, so he went by his childhood nickname all his life. _Bucky_. Oh and how Sam loved Bucky. His old man. Sam wouldn't have finished high school without him and Bucky tried so hard to live long enough to his graduation. Sam adored them and their undying love...fundamental to who he is to his core."

Then he grinned wickedly. "Until he realized that his darling Bucky wasn't so faithful to dear Jim, was he? Hard to reimagine it all, knowing that his old man was in love with someone else. That his beloved, perfect uncle was always second place. That Bucky only sought him out in the first place to keep tabs on young Sam. That all his care, all his devotion was a lie." 

Grant swore, "That's not true, Sam. It's not."

"But it is," Taurey countered. "There is so much in his memory. All the pieces were there. Every story told, every pause, every long glance. It all adds up. Sam even knew of this place, heard the song Bucky hummed as they passed by. You cannot lie to him. He knows the truth better than you do."

Grant demanded, "Let him go."

"In time," Taurey agreed. "I have him sedated for now but once the Madbomb is released, he will strike. He will not stop until everyone in this room is dead. Nor will you, once you inhale the neurotoxin. Sam will not survive against you. No one could survive against you."

Grant snarled. "Then you won't either." 

Taurey smirked. "No, I think I will manage just fine." 

Grant turned his head as Tony was dragged into the room, his suit pried off of him. Tony was tossed by Grant's feet and he helped his friend stand, letting him rest against his shoulder. 

"Now that our people have removed the nuisance in the air above us, my helicopter will bring us the safety of Taurey Tower. We shall be removed from the chaos that will envelop the entire city in about...five minutes or so. But I think we can start things a little faster here, Taurey continued. "It's not a hard choice to make, Captain. Immunity for your loyalty. Come forward and take your rightful place among us. You will be a leader in the new world order, an example of the triumphant of science over the lesser. You will make humanity strong. Not as a shadow of an idealistic fool, but as your own man. Take it. Take the immunity." 

"Why is this asshole still alive?" Tony asked tiredly. "I've seen you take out more guys than this in one go. Just deck him, grab your pal, and we'll bail."

Taurey shook his head. "Oh, Mr. Stark, you have no idea the mistake you have made following your friend here. I didn't tell him to come alone because I worried I would be stopped. I simply was worried that an Avenger would needlessly die. We need all the super powered humans we can get in our new world. But perhaps you are not a great loss. After all, you're just a man in a suit and not a particularly smart one."

Tony coughed out a laugh. "Now you're just getting nasty."

"I would recommend, Captain, that when the neurotoxin is released, that you reflect long and hard on how I learned of Sam's identity. It might make clearer who you should be aligning yourself with. I hide nothing from you, Captain. I only offer you a stronger world. When Thanos comes, he will spare us for we have done his work for him. We will save the worthy half of humanity." 

Grant snarled, "Go to hell."

Taurey sighed and nodded at the woman on his left. "There is no point in delaying. Trigger the Madbomb and let our people begin their march."

Taurey went to leave through the fire escape and towards the roof where his helicopter no doubt waited for him. With one leg out the window, Taurey paused. 

"And dear niece," Taurey added, "do give yourself an advantage and shoot him."

Grant didn't move fast enough for the spray of the shotgun to blast through his chest. He fell, nearly crushing Tony beneath him. He struggled to breathe, looking up helplessly as Sam was cut free. The other soldiers left, barricading the doors and windows with their bodies. The woman went out through the main door, hitting a button on her phone.

Tony was on his knees before Grant, trying to stop the bleeding. Grant could already feel his body rejecting the metal and attempting to force it out. But the shot wasn't meant to kill him. It was meant to detain him, just long enough for the neurotoxin to strike.

Tony pleaded, "Cap, hold on. We're going to get through this. You stay with me, okay? You stay mad at me and we'll just throw really shitty punches at each other until someone comes and saves the day for us."

"Keep Sam safe," Grant pleaded. "No matter what. He gets out of here alive. Don't let me hurt him. Kill me if you have to, but don't let me hurt Sam."

Grant's chest grew tight and he felt his hopelessness turn to something bitter. He did the right thing. He always did the right thing and looked where that had gotten him? He could have taken the immunity, he could have gone their hideout and slain them there. He should have destroyed them all. 

And Sam...Tony...they were all going to die because of him. He should have found Sam himself. Grant should have mentored him, befriended him. Grant should have protected him. Bucky had begged him. Grant had just been too cowardly to want to accept that part of Bucky's life. The part Bucky had lived happily without him. 

And Tony...he should have told Tony to stay behind. Grant should have been strong enough to go alone. Now Tony was hurt and without his suit. Tony wouldn't stand a chance against Sam, never mind Grant. Tony - what had Taurey meant about Tony? What did he think Tony had been lying to him about?

Tony had met Sam at Bucky's funeral years ago. Tony knew Sam before he knew anything about parallel worlds and alternate futures. It wouldn't have been hard to know how to find him. Just the name in Bucky's journal would have been enough to make him start thinking, even before Grant had shared what Steve had told him. 

The journal. When Grant had moved out on his own, he had given it to Tony for safekeeping. He couldn't let anyone accidentally find it. It had to be kept hidden. Grant trusted Tony with his life. Why wouldn't he trust this to him? 

"It was you," Grant accused, feeling his heart crumple in his chest. "He found out about Sam because of you." 

Grant screamed, slamming his fists down on the floor. He howled, crying out like a wounded wolf. He was too lost in his own rage to notice Sam knocking him down to the ground. Grant grabbed Sam's shoulders and tossed him away, but not fast enough. Tony slammed his foot down on Grant's hand, his bones snapping underneath his boot. Grant rolled away, holding his broken hand to his chest. 

Tony insisted, "I have a daughter, Cap. You told me and then you told me she was going to grow up in a world without me. I couldn't sleep, Grant. I knew she was there, just out there, living in a hell scape alone and you told me we couldn't interfere. But you could. You could do whatever you wanted as long as you did what Steve said but it was my tech. It was my tech! I did it once, I could do it again. I gave JARVIS everything. Every scrap."

Tony grabbed the chair Sam had been tied to and slammed it down on Grant's head. The wood splintered against his skin and Tony hit him again and again. Grant caught Tony's ankle and pulled him onto the ground with him, pinning him by the wrists. 

"My daughter needs me!" Tony bellowed. "Why did you keep me from her?" 

Tony kneed him in the groin and Grant let go of his grip. He slipped from him and kicked him in the face. Grant tried to move but Sam rose and grabbed his arms, holding him still. Grant didn't fight it. It didn't matter what happened to him. They could destroy him. It was his fault, it was all his fault. Let them rip him apart. Let them kill him. 

And then they very nearly did.


	11. Chapter 11

Grant woke on a stretcher in a hospital corridor. He saw dozens of others the same way, all bloody and broken. Some cried. Some screamed. Some lay motionless. Grant tried to shift his weight but the pain that shot through him forced him back on his side. 

It was only a moment before an orderly came and moved him quickly down the hall, doctors or nurses running behind them. Grant tried to look around but a familiar voice told him to hold still. 

Grant tried to say Natasha's name but she shushed him, holding onto his arm until she was forced to stay behind. A mask went over Grant's mouth and he slipped back into the blackness.

*****

The second time Grant woke, he woke alone. His vision was blurred but he could see that he was in a wardroom by himself. His hearing didn't fare much better, his ears ringing so loud he could barely make anything else out. His head throbbed and he put his hand to his temple, feeling the bandage wrapped around his skull and his close shorn hair. 

He looked out the door, seeing the backs of two agents. Grant felt around the bed and found a button to call for a nurse. Before he could even push it, the door opened and Natasha entered, rushing to his side. She grasped his arm and he held hers just as tightly.

Grant murmured, "The others?"

"They're okay," Natasha promised. "Just minor injuries. We got you out before they could turn on each other." 

"How many did we lose?" 

Natasha's face fell. "About eleven hundred across the city. More than that were seriously wounded. It could have been much worse. The Madbomb was only activated for twelve minutes."

"Too long," Grant whispered. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. I should have-"

Natasha interrupted him, "Grant, we only found it that quickly because you went out and found Taurey. All the Avengers split up to try to deal with the chaos and I went to find you and Tony. I've had a tracker on your bike for four years, ever since you took off to Washington on mine. Carter dismantled the bomb while I kept you alive. If you hadn't gone, we would have never found it. And if you'd call the rest of us in, Taurey would have just set it off somewhere else."

"Did you find the bastard?"

Natasha nodded gravely. "We caught him escaping to Canada. Well, the Great Lakes Avengers did at least. We owe someone named Squirrel Girl a big favor." 

"When? How long have I been out?"

"Four days," Natasha explained. "You were in emergency surgery for six hours then in an induced coma for two days. You've woken up before a few times but just for a minute or two. You probably don't remember. Bernie said you were awake this morning for a while. This is the first time you've spoken though."

Grant's heart sank in his chest. "Where is she?"

Natasha replied, "In the Chaplain's office. I can get her if you want." 

He shook his head. "No, let her be." 

"Grant...can I ask you something? You don't have to answer it if you don't want to."

Grant said, "Go ahead." 

Natasha questioned, "When I came in, you weren't fighting. You were just...letting them. Why didn't the Madbomb affect you? " 

Grant explained, "I think it did. Taurey said the Madbomb brought out all the resentment and pettiness we have against each other. But in my deepest, darkest truths...I was letting them hurt me because I wanted to hurt me. It wasn't because I love them both so much. It was because I hated myself most. I blamed myself for letting any of this happen. I blamed myself for hurting them."

Natasha said nothing. What could she say to that? She wasn't the type to immediately comfort him and assure him it wasn't his fault. 

Eventually Natasha said, "Sam doesn't remember much about what happened. A lot of people don't. A small mercy, I guess."

Grant smiled tiredly. "Maybe he was right. Maybe sometimes we have to forget things so we can survive in the world with each other." 

The door opened and Grant saw Tony enter. 

Tony asked, "Give us a minute, Nat?"

She squeezed Grant's hand. "I'm right outside."

Natasha closed the door behind her. Tony sat beside Grant, head bowed. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. Grant took his hand in his.

"I'm sorry," Grant murmured. "I should have helped you find a way to Morgan."

Tony shook his head. "No, don't. I messed up. If I had just stuck to pen and paper, we wouldn't be here. I misused something you gave me to keep safe. We can do the whole groveling and apologies thing if we want but I think we both know I messed up a lot more than you messed up."

Grant squeezed his hand. "We'll fix it together. I'm just glad you're safe." 

Tony took a deep breath. "You're going to make me start crying like a baby now and I haven't even gotten through the thing I came in here to say. Cap, there's something I've got to tell you even though I really, really don't want to. It's shitty timing but I think you should hear it from me. Nat thinks I should make sure you're not about to fall back into a coma but this is important. I'd tell you to sit down but it doesn't look like you're going anywhere."

Grant nodded. "Okay."

Tony closed his eyes, steeling himself before saying, "Peggy's gone. She died in her sleep three nights ago. Probably a heart attack, but it was quick at least." 

"No," Grant protested. "She was fine. I just saw her. She was fine." 

"Grant, she's dead. I saw her myself at the funeral home. The memorial is on Friday. I'm sorry. Really, I-"

Grant demanded, "Get out. Get out right now. Get out!" 

Tony obeyed reluctantly, shutting the door behind him. Grant buried his face in his hands and took a long shaky breath. Four days. That made it Wednesday. God. He could barely lift his head off the pillow and in forty-eight hours he had to be at Peggy's funeral. 

He knew it was coming. He knew it would probably be this year. But...he had just talked to her. He had just been with her in her garden. She had been right there and now she was...gone. Peggy had died while he had been lying in this bed. He should have been there with her. He should have gone to say goodbye instead of plaguing her with his personal problems. He should have just been there to be with her.

Oh God, Steve. He should have asked about Steve. Tony would have seen him. Tony would have spoken to him, told him what had happened with the Madbomb. Steve didn't need that on his conscience on top of his grief. Grant should go to him. He should be there to support him. Or maybe not. But Tony would know. Tony would know what Grant should do. 

Tony was just on the other side of a door but Grant couldn't call to him. He wanted to but he couldn't. Not with the memories of the Madbomb...no. They needed time. He needed to talk to Bernie and Sam too but he just couldn't. He felt paralyzed by his doubt and his indecisions. What was he supposed to do? 

The door opened and Grant demanded, "Go away." 

Instead, Bernie closed the door behind her and sat on the edge of his bed. Grant looked up at her sorrowfully, the last pieces of his strength fading. 

She murmured, "It sounds like Tony told you. I'm so sorry, Grant."

Grant shifted to the side and gestured for her to lay beside him. Bernie barely fit on the bed, even curled up on his chest. He held her, burying his face in her hair. 

Bernie said gently, "I've talked to Steve. He's handling it okay. He wanted to put the funeral off until you woke up but I told him you're stubborn enough that if he picked a date, you'd wake up in time. Looks like I was right. I'll check in with the doctor to see if we can get you released into my care by then. If you want me there."

Grant knew in his heart then that he had to tell her. Bernie couldn't go to this funeral thinking that Grant had just lost a comforting friend. Sure, Bernie believed that Grant had been programmed to have feelings for her but she had emphasized so much on making new real memories for himself. It wasn't because she wasn't sympathetic; it was just that she wanted him to be happy. There was no point dwelling in the past, especially a past that wasn't even your own.

If Grant hadn't almost died, he would have said that of course he wanted her by his side. He wanted her at his side for the rest of his life. But all he could think of was his last words with Peggy. 

_"How do I know if I should get married?"  
"You know because you want to."_

Grant admitted, "There's something I need to tell you. You're going to think it's part of the brain injury, but it's not. You can ask Tony, he'll tell you it's the truth."

Then Grant told her everything. About the other timeline, about Steve's deception, about his relationships with both Peggy and Bucky, about the deal he had made. Everything. He held nothing back, knowing it was all too much at once, but now that he was finally able to tell her one secret he wanted to tell them all.

Bernie listened silently, her head resting over his thundering heart. When there was nothing left he could say, Bernie sat up on the edge of the bed, resting her face in her hands. Grant forced himself up to sit beside her, putting his arm around her shoulders. 

"I love you," Grant pleaded. "I love you so much. I want to marry you. I want to have children with you. I want to spend every minute of the rest of my life with you. I'll never keep a secret from you again. I'll never lie to you again. Please, Bernie. Please marry me. I love you." 

"That's the problem here, Grant," Bernie said, turning to smile at him sadly. "I love me too. I don't blame you for not telling me the truth. I don't blame you for loving people before you met me. I don't blame you for any of it." 

"Then what is it?" Grant asked. "What can I do?"

Bernie admitted, "Nothing, Grant. I asked you to marry me because I was scared of losing you. You remember I told you I applied for law school? Well, I got in. UCLA. I was going to ask you to move with me, join the West Coast Avengers. I had this whole plan that I was going to tell you about but I was scared and I jumped to the biggest part of it. I want a life with you but I want it to be a life that's ours. I thought that if we got away from New York, we could start over."

"And we still can," Grant promised. "I'll talk to Janet as soon as I get out of here."

Bernie said softly, "You know, you talk in your sleep. I heard Bucky's name a dozen times. I used to think they were just flashbacks from the war. I always thought that was weird, that HYDRA put in that much detail. But the way you said his name...you can't just choose not to feel that, Grant. You can't just decide to pick me. I know you think you mean it but I'm not spending two years waiting to hear if you were right. And I can't ask you to stay here and always wonder, not when you already know that you're in love with him. I want you to figure it out on your terms. I'm not the alternative. I'm either the only option or not an option at all. I don't blame you, Grant. I really don't. I'm not angry. I love you, but I'm not going to settle for any man. Not even Captain America."

Bernie kissed him, running her fingers across his shaved head. Grant held her tenderly in his arms. He expected to start crying but it was all too much. There were too many things to feel and consider and they all left him feeling numb. When she pulled away, he didn't beg her or even ask her to sit a little longer. 

Grant thought of Peggy sitting across the table from Daniel, seeing her other possible life. Did she ever consider what would have happened if she had pursued him? Did she ever wonder if she had made the wrong choice? She could have gone with the plan of the universe. She could have chosen the life created for her. A good life, one full of love and promise. But instead Peggy gambled on the unknown. She gambled on what could be. She hadn't chosen between two men. She had chosen Steve, having no idea what would happen next. 

Grant realized then that Bernie hadn't made that decision for him. She had only shown him that he had already made his choice. He had chosen Bucky. He had chosen uncertainty. He wanted the unknown. Grant just wished that he had known that before he had walked out that night on Bernie. 

But if he hadn't...would he have seen Peggy before she died? Would he have had that moment in the garden with her? 

Grant lay back down, his head pounding. He wrapped the sheets around himself, shivering. He felt cold, colder then when he had first come out of the ice. Colder than the pneumonia that had once almost taken his life. His teeth were chattering by the time the nurse came into the room and called for help. 

In his delirious mind, she looked almost like his mother, ready for a shift in the infectious disease ward. The thought made him smile as he fell unconscious. 

*****

Grant would spend the next day and a half in the hospital, pumped full of antibiotics. He had thought the serum would have made him strong enough to avoid getting this ill but it seemed that wasn't the case. He spent much of the time asleep. When he did wake, everything started to come back to him. The Madbomb. Bernie. Sam. Peggy. It would get so overwhelming that he would shut his eyes and try to push it aside. He just needed to get out of the hospital. He just needed to get better. 

Grant was released only three hours before Peggy's funeral. Tony flew with him down to Washington and didn't leave his side the entire time. Tony had even held his arm throughout the ceremony, clearly worried that Grant would pass out again and Tony wouldn't be strong enough to pick him up. 

Grant felt the eyes of everyone there on him, even though he sat in the back. There was judgment, fear, awe, gratitude. People who thought he shouldn't exist. People who thought he had just saved the world. People who had no idea who he was but had the strangest feeling that they had seen him before.

Sharon spoke on behalf of the family, the elder of Steve and Peggy's daughters standing there beside her. Steve just sat in the front pew, his head in his hands, not saying a word. 

Grant was supposed to be a pallbearer. Peggy had asked that of him in the past few months. She wanted him there with her on that final journey. Tony had told him it was stupid for him to do it when he was that sick but Grant did it anyways. It would have been easy for him most days but now it felt like a heavy burden. He appreciated that. He wanted to feel the weight of her presence before he had to let her go. 

After she was buried, there was a reception at the house. It was packed full of friends and family and it felt almost like a wake. Peggy had made it to 94 after all. She had lived a long life and had only been ill in the past few years. There was much to be celebrated about her life and the people who loved her most embraced each other and shared their own memories of her.

Grant made sure he spoke to all of Peggy's children and then went to the guest room. He sat on the bed, resting his hand where she had once sat beside him. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, sitting in that stillness. He could still feel her presence, almost as if her hand was resting on his.

He was unsure of long he sat there before he heard a knock at the door. Grant wiped away his tears and rose, opening it. Steve stood on the other side, his eyes rimmed red and his lip trembling. Steve whimpered, on the edge of tears, and Grant hugged him tightly, reassuring him that everything was going to be okay. Steve sobbed and grasped at the back of Grant's jacket, clinging to him. 

"I know," Grant whispered. "I know."

*****

All of Steve and Peggy's children slept that night in their old rooms, the grandchildren piled in sleeping bags on the floor. Grant and Tony shared the guest room, Grant letting Tony have the mattress while he laid on the floor, staring at the clock on the wall. He could hear others crying on and off throughout the night. He felt isolated from their grief, making him feel only lonelier in his own.

Most of Steve's family left the next day. Bridget, the youngest of he and Peggy's children, was staying longer to take care of him. Grant was grateful that the cheerful fifty-six year old would still be around. Steve was healthy as a horse and fiercely independent but Bridget would at least ensure that he was sleeping and eating. 

Near noon, Tony was in the kitchen with Bridget, shamelessly flirting with his former babysitter. She laughed, occasionally smacking him with her dishtowel as she prepared lunch. The rest of the house was empty except for Grant in the living room and Steve locked away in his study. Grant did the crossword - doctor recommended after his head trauma - and listened to Tony's dirty jokes, chuckling to himself. 

He had just completed 49 Down ("cellular") when Steve walked in and told Grant that they needed to talk. Grant followed him back into the study, glancing around the room. It was completely disorganized, papers scattered everywhere and a dozen books opened and abandoned on various tables. Steve's computer screen showed that his web browser had an absurd amount of tabs of Wikipedia open on it. The little space that wasn't covered in information was littered with empty coffee mugs. 

Steve sat down in his chair slowly, a rare moment he showed a glimpse of his true age. Grant stayed standing, leaning against the desk with his arms crossed. 

Steve admitted, "I don't think we can wait any longer, Grant. I think it's time."

"Time for what?" 

Steve sighed. "For me to go home."

Grant asked in shock, "Now? But what about your kids? What about Thanos? What about Sam? What about me?" 

Steve explained quietly, "This week has reminded me that I can't predict everything. The world is becoming further and further than the one I used to live in. I didn't know about the Madbomb. I couldn't protect any of you. New threats will replace the old ones. They always did. I did the best I could for as long as I could. You...you have been incredible, Grant. I am so proud of you. I know I have no right to be, but I am. I know you would keep fighting for as long as I asked you to. But...but now there are some very bad people who know the truth about the two of us. We can't risk anyone from this side crossing to mine. So I think that I should go and say my goodbyes. And when I come back, the suit is yours either to use it or...or to destroy it. But either way, I think it's time. We can't risk it anymore and it's not fair to you. You don't have to stay on my side but if you come back, I will destroy the suit. I plan to personally watch Tony strip all data from his systems either way."

Grant stammered, "Are you sure?"

Steve nodded. "I've thought about it a lot. I tried to figure out any other way but we can't risk it. I've been researching the last two nights any other way that someone could move between realms but I think that if we remove that suit from this timeline then we'll be safe. Tony's never gotten past the theoretical work. We've been fortunate that being an Avenger has mostly kept him out of trouble."

"Have you talked to him about this?" 

"No yet, but I know he'll agree."

Grant agreed. Even if Tony didn't see the logic in it, he wouldn't refuse a grieving widower's only request.

Grant asked, "When will you go?"

"Soon. I've written a letter for Bridget if something happens to me. I think she'll understand best. Just in case. I'll time it so I'm only away a few seconds in this reality. You'll know quickly if something's gone wrong."

Grant swallowed hard. "And then?"

Steve warned, "He won't be how you remember him and you won't be how he remembers you. And for the rest...you're never going to see any of this again, Grant. My world isn't going to be like yours. No Tony, no Natasha. Just a lot of hurt people recovering from something you can't even imagine. It's going to be hell for you and you're not going to be able to come back." 

Grant's throat tightened harder. "I know." 

Steve's hand trembled and Grant squeezed tight. "It'll be okay."

Steve smiled wistfully. "Yeah, yeah it'll be okay."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, I was not expecting the Grant section to be so long. Originally I thought like two paragraphs but here we are I guess lol next time, let's see how Bucky reacts to all this. spoilers, always more crying


	12. Chapter 12

_2023-A_

After hearing Steve's story, Bucky was too stunned to speak. He tried to find the words, any words, but nothing passed his lips. 

Steve murmured, "I'm sorry, Bucky. I wanted to tell you when I first came back but you wouldn't speak to me. You weren't ready and I wasn't either."

Bucky whispered, "This is so shitty of you, Steve."

"I know," Steve agreed quietly. "I'm sorry I couldn't be the man you needed me to be. I thought that it would be better this way, for both of us. I'm sorry."

Bucky shook his head. "No, no, you don't get to be sorry. You...you should have chosen me. You should have picked me. You should have loved me."

Steve pleaded, "I did. I did love you. I have spent two lifetimes loving you. I made the only choice I could. I only came back now because I knew I could only do it once, because I knew I wouldn't be strong enough to leave you a third time." 

"This isn't fair," Bucky protested. "You know this isn't fair. You don't just get to show up, wave goodbye, and then drop off some alternate version of you like a consolation prize. You've made the best possible timeline and now you're throwing your discard into ours to get rid of him." 

Steve said softly, "I gave him a choice, that's all I did. I haven't hidden a thing from him. He knows everything. He knows how shattered this world is. But I think he is very much in love with you, Buck." 

Bucky refused, "He doesn't know me and I don't know him. You've lied to him, Steve. There is nothing here for him."

"Do you want me to tell him to stay behind?"

Bucky pleaded, "Stop playing with me, Steve. Stop playing with both of us. You got your happy ending. You don't have to force mine. Just...just it's okay. If you needed my forgiveness, you got it. It's fine. It's over. Just...just go home, Steve. Just go home."

Steve rose to his feet and slowly went to the door. He turned back to look at Bucky but Bucky was already standing. Bucky wasn't sure which one of them moved first but they found themselves in a fierce hug. 

"Try," Steve whispered. "Don't push him away because you're mad at me. He loves you. I love you. God, Buck, I love you so much."

Bucky wanted to wish him well or forgive him or just something but all he could do was hold onto him and try not to cry. Steve cradled him in his arms, seeming to understand. 

Finally Bucky managed to say, "I hope you had a good life together."

Steve assured, "We did. It was beautiful."

Bucky whispered, "Then...then we're good. You and me. I just want you to be happy. I'm glad you've had a good life. I hope...I hope the rest of it is too."   
"Can I tell you about it? There's so much I've wanted to tell you. There are so many things I wish you could have seen with me. So many people I wish you could have met." 

Bucky laughed. "Are you the type of old man who needs to show off pictures of his grandchildren to everyone he sees?"

Steve apologized, "I'm afraid I am. I understand if you don't, but..."

"I do. I want to know everything."

So they talked. Not right then but later the next day. Steve had been staying with Pepper and Morgan and Bucky went to visit him there. They sat out on the deck and talked for hours about Steve's near century away from him. They swung on the porch swing together, Bucky's hand resting lightly in Steve's. After both lunch and dinner outside, Steve started drifting off. The sun slowly set across the lake and Bucky watched it, at first not having the heart to move Steve. But once it grew dark and Steve was firmly asleep, Bucky picked him up and brought him to bed. He tucked him in and kissed his forehead and went downstairs to the living room. 

Bucky sat in front of the dying fireplace and brought out the picture Steve had given him. It was only a year old but it was already crinkled. Steve had kept it in his jacket pocket since it was taken, always intending to sneak it across reality to give to Bucky. It was a standard family Christmas picture, just with an exceptionally large family. All of Steve's children and grand children and great grandchildren crowded together in front of the family home. Steve was near the back, Peggy on his one arm, and his youngest great grandchild curled up in the other, half asleep against his chest. Just beside him was a young man somewhere in his late twenties. If someone had scanned past it quickly, they might remark on how much the man resembled his grandfather. But Bucky knew immediately who it really was. Grant. Steve had called him Grant and even though the poor guy knew the truth, he had apparently kept using the name.

The strange thing was, Grant didn't look exactly like Steve had done at that age. If Bucky did the math right, this would have been around the time they had found each other again. Maybe just a little later, when Bucky was hiding and Steve was doing everything he could to find him. But Grant stood a little taller, his smile was a little wider, and he had the very beginnings of laugh lines. He was a little less bulky, his face a little softer. It was a Steve who actually ate and slept occasionally. 

As Bucky studied the picture, it all seemed more and more unfair. Grant was happy. He clearly had found something that Steve had spent a whole lifetime looking for. How could Grant ever find the same thing in this timeline? Even with Bucky. Steve had told him he loved him but it was hard to believe that this stranger loved him enough to give up everything for Bucky.

Bucky took out his phone to check the time. It was getting late and Bucky hadn't been directly invited to stay the night. It was time to go back. Steve had given him his old motorcycle and Bucky was planning to drive it back to the apartment. But it felt like a bad idea. He didn't know the bike well and he could barely concentrate on anything other than the photo in front of him.

Bucky scrolled through his contacts and sent a quick text, asking Carol how quickly she could get there. She simply messaged back: _you know I can fly, right?_

Soon enough Carol had landed in the driveway, so softly her feet barely padded against the asphalt. She started up the bike and Bucky sat behind her, wrapping his arms around her. 

"Thanks," he said.

Carol replied, "You're welcome. Just so you know, I have a policy of only one sad pick up from an ex's house in the middle of the night per friend."

Bucky smirked. "I'll try to keep that in mind."

They drove off into the night together. Bucky closed his eyes, just focusing on the sound of the wind.

*****

Two days later Steve, Bruce, Sam, and Bucky met at the transporter pad once more. Bucky and Steve never took their eyes off each other, each trying to make the other smile, each trying not to cry.

Just before Steve left, Bucky hugged him tightly and whispered in his ear, "I love you." 

Steve pressed his forehead to his, cupping his face in his hands. Bucky understood. Steve wanted to kiss him but it was too late. The time had passed for them. He belonged to Peggy, even if she was gone now. He was always going to be her husband first. It would feel wrong to kiss anyone but her. Even Bucky. 

Bucky stepped back, smiling weakly. Sam went to him, encouraging him quietly to step off the pad. Bucky stood beside Sam, letting Sam put his hand on his shoulder. Bucky couldn't look away, watching Steve's face even as he put the helmet on. Watching even as Steve disappeared for one last time. 

Bucky would have fallen to his knees if Sam hadn't been there to support him. Five seconds. Five seconds between watching the love of his life leave forever and meeting an unknown version of him. Five seconds. 

_Grant stood, waiting for Steve to reappear. Any second now. Then they would switch. Steve had already set everything up, with Tony's help. All Grant needed was the suit and the go-ahead from Steve. _

_Tony asked, "Are you sure you want to do this?"_

_Grant wasn't. His stomach felt twisted into knots. It was too soon. It was less than a week since Peggy's funeral. He wanted to just hide in his apartment for a month until everything sunk in. But here he was. This was his one chance. Steve was right. They couldn't put this off any longer. It was selfish to wait any longer._

_Grant turned to Tony and lied, "I'm sure."_

_Tony clearly didn't believe him but he still nodded. "Okay. Let me state for the record once again how shitty an idea I think this is. But you know, we've all wanted to run into another dimension to avoid dealing with a breakup. This is healthy. In a way. You can always come back, you know that right?"_

_"I know," Grant assured._

_"So how long should I wait here for you? Ten minutes? You're probably smart enough to get back in a ten minute window."_

_Grant already knew in his heart he wasn't coming back and he suspected Tony knew that too. But still he agreed, "Ten minutes should work." _

_Steve snapped into their vision and they both turned to greet him. Steve took off the helmet, tears streaming down his face. Tony tried to say something but Steve ignored him, going straight to Grant. _

_Steve leaned in close to Grant, so close Tony couldn't hear Steve whisper, "I was wrong. This isn't right. This isn't going to work."_

_"What do you mean?" Grant asked. "Did the suit malfunction?"_

_"He's never going to love you, Grant," Steve pleaded. "Do you understand? He's never going to love you the way you hope he's going to. He's not going to just... you're hurting from losing Peggy and Bernie. He's not going to fix you. He's never going to forgive you for not being me and you'll never forgive him for being broken. It's not going to work."_

_"You don't know that," Grant insisted. _

_"I do. I know him and you don't. Please. If you go, you're just going to make it worse. Please. Let him get over us. Let him move on."_

_Tony asked, "What's going on, Rogerses? We still doing this?"_

_Grant grasped Steve's shoulder. "Let me try. If it doesn't work, it doesn't work. But I need to know. I think we both do. So let me go, Steve. Let me find out for myself."_

_Steve whispered, "I'm sorry, I just..."_

_"I know," Grant replied gently, hugging him again. "I know."_

It was six seconds but then the air shimmered as a form appeared. The figure took off his helmet and everything else in the world seemed to stop. Their eyes met and it was like the first time Bucky had ever seen him after the serum. He wasn't Steve but he so clearly was it was almost painful to look at him. Bucky felt that same unrealness now and the same shock of hope. Steve was here. Bucky had been lost and Steve had impossibly found him. Steve had saved him. 

Bucky tried to speak but he couldn't. Grant stepped off the pad and walked towards him, helmet tucked into the crook of his arm. Grant reached out, offering his hand to shake.

Grant smiled nervously. "Hi."

Bucky returned his smile and shook his hand. "Hi."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick clarification, just to make sure everyone's got it: Grant is in Timeline "A" now
> 
> my goodness, guys, your comments and kudos have been such a delight and such inspiration to keep going on this sob fest. I have never had more subscribers to a story than I have to this one and I'm so honored. man, Endgame must have really messed us all up lol

"So anyone going to acknowledge how weird this is or we all just going to drive back home in complete silence?"

Bucky shot Sam a mean look but Grant chuckled quietly from the back seat. "It is weird, but I think it's probably worse for me than the two of you. Thanks for lending me your phone, Sam. I've got a lot of studying to do and Steve was kind enough to bookmark a lot of Wikipedia pages for me."

Sam said, "Yeah, I hear that. I'm still catching up on the last half decade. You've got, what, eighty years? Maybe I should drive around the block a few more hours for you."

"The way traffic has been, I'll have plenty of time to make it to the 1960s," Grant assured. "Maybe if there's construction, I'll even get to the moon landing."

"They do that in your timeline yet?"

"In my timeline, we have a research station up there. The Cold War went pretty differently with HYDRA mostly wiped out. We could use our resources towards the space program instead of an arms race."

"Yeah, but I bet you didn't get Rocky IV."

"Rocky who?" 

Bucky cut in. "Let him read, Sam."

Bucky glanced back at Grant, their eyes meeting for just a second. Grant quickly looked away, returning to his studies. Grant had been reading for the first two hours of their drive back to Brooklyn and it seemed he intended to read the rest of the way. Bucky hadn't tried to engage him in conversation and had spent most of the time staring out of the passenger side window, panicking about what would happen when Sam inevitably left them alone. 

Less than three hours before, Bucky had confessed to Steve that he loved him and said goodbye to him for the last time. Now he was sitting behind him reading about McCarthyism with a deep frown and the hint of a snarl. 

Sam was right. It was very weird. 

When they got to Manhattan Beach, Sam dropped them off in front of the townhouse before going down the block to their parking spot. Bucky didn't say anything, just grabbed the backpack that held everything Grant owned, and gestured for the stranger to follow him inside.

Once they got through the door, Bean came trotting up, demanding to be picked up and then immediately fed. Bucky was grateful for the distraction and did as the cat had asked of him. 

On the way to the kitchen, Bucky called out, "I've set up a room for you. Up the stairs, to the right. It's not much. I haven't gotten a chance to fix it up yet. The whole place is a disaster but I'm working on it."

Grant called back, "Thanks."

Bucky refilled Bean's water dish and topped off his food. Bean ate happily and Bucky scratched behind his ears before standing again. He went upstairs and to the room across from his own. He had expected to knock but it the door was wide open. 

Grant had put the same Christmas photo Bucky had on the nightstand, but his unpacking seemed to have ended there. Grant now sat on the bedspread, a worn notebook on his lap and a folded piece of paper in his hand. 

Bucky lightly tapped on the doorframe. "You okay?"

Grant attempted to smile. "Great. Sam back yet?"

"Should be," Bucky agreed, "but there's a thirteen year old girl that lives around the corner that has a massive crush on him. Every time he parks the car, she usually goes out for some excuse or another to go and talk to him. He's trying not to break her heart."

They heard the door open and Bean's insistent meowing that Sam pet him. Bucky was grateful for the distraction and went downstairs, finding Sam on the phone. Sam mouthed "Shuri" before going into his own bedroom, just off the kitchen. Bean sat at his door, clearly pissed off that his demands had not been met. 

Bucky started looking through the fridge to try to find something to make them for dinner. It would have been just as easy to go out and grab take out but if Bucky was cooking then he didn't have to talk to Grant.

Sam's door opened and he tripped over Bean. He tried to apologize but the cat merely hissed at him and ran away.

Sam winced. "So, Bucky, you're going to hate me for this, but...I'm kinda needed in Wakanda. Like right now. It's a long story but I'm going to be gone for at least a week. It's shit timing, I know, but Shuri's apparently been trying to get a hold of me all day and Grant kept accidentally hanging up on her."

"A week?" Bucky panicked. "We could go with you."

Sam shook his head. "We both agreed on this. No one can know about Grant until he figures out what he's doing. People think Steve's dead and the few people who know he's alive think he's a sweet old man playing checkers with Morgan. Having Grant running around is going to make a lot of people ask a lot of questions."

Grant asked, "When do you have to leave?"

They both turned, startled at his sudden presence. Grant stood, resting against the doorframe, his cheeks lightly pink. He had clearly heard Bucky's fear at having to be alone with him for days on end.

"Right now," Sam said. "I'm sorry, Grant. I'm just a phone call away and I'll get back as soon as I can. Just relax, settle in, and maybe dye your hair or something."

Shuri's ringtone went off again and Sam apologized before taking the call, rushing to pack as the Princess lectured him on something else. He barely waved to them as he went out the door, saying something in really awful Xhosa. 

Bucky had no idea what to do next. Grant was an arm's length away from him and clearly just as uncomfortable as him. Bucky wanted to go hide in his room but he'd have to face him eventually. Maybe it was better to deal with it head on but he had no idea what to say. 

"Did you ever see _Roman Holiday_?" Grant asked suddenly. "I borrowed the DVD from the library right before I left and I never got the chance to watch it. I completely forgot with everything going on. I hope Steve brings it back for me."

Bucky frowned. "What?"

Grant rubbed the back of his neck. "You've got those things in this timeline? DVDs? This isn't some weird reality where we're all watching things on Betamax or we're so far into the future you're watching things in 4D...right?"

When Bucky didn't answer, Grant rambled further, "Or maybe just not _Roman Holiday_. Or maybe Gregory Peck was a serial killer in this world and I've just suggested something really awful."

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "No, I haven't seen _Roman Holiday_. I've heard it doesn't exactly have a happy ending. You sure you want to watch that on your first night in a brand new universe?"

Grant shrugged, smiling sheepishly. "When has the threat of a sad ending ever stopped us from doing something?"

To his own surprise, Bucky started to smile in return. "You like chana masala?"

Grant answered, "You know, I never got around to trying that either."

"Well," Bucky offered, "why don't I go get some take out and you try to find the movie on Netflix. The remote has a button for the app."

"What's Netflix?"

Oh, Steve. How could he have done something so awful as to deprive the world of streaming services? 

Bucky replied, "You'll see. I'll be back soon." 

*****

Bucky ordered far too much food, figuring at worst it would be leftovers. They ate on the couch in front of the TV, watching the movie in companionable silence.   
Bean was skeptical of Grant and kept himself fully between the pair of them. Eventually the cat fell asleep, resting his head on Bucky's thigh, keeping its paws pointed towards Grant. Bean retracted his claws a few times in his sleep, making sure that Grant remembered he was there and ready to strike.

When the credits started to roll, Bucky stood up and collected their dishes. They had a dishwasher but if he washed them by hand, it would avoid conversation a little bit longer. Bucky filled up the sink and dumped everything inside. He started scrubbing a plate when Grant came into the kitchen and stood beside him. Bucky rinsed the plate and without thinking, Bucky handed it to Grant to dry. Grant took it without question, taking his half of the chore instinctively. 

"My hands were always sore after work," Bucky remembered suddenly. "You always wanted me to let them soak for awhile before we did the dishes. Then you dried them because your fingers could reach the bottom of the glasses."

Grant smiled. "Yours did too. You were just trying to help me feel useful. It felt awful seeing you work so hard when I could barely rub two pennies together."

"Only that first year," Bucky reminded. "When the war started, you were making more than me and you didn't even have to leave the apartment to do your ad work. If things had kept going like that, I could have stayed home as your kept man instead of you as mine."

"You would have hated that," Grant retorted. "You'd get cabin fever in an hour."

"I don't know about that," Bucky replied. "You remember that one January. You would have been fourteen. It snowed so hard everything shut down for two days. Nobody could get anywhere. You trekked through it to get to my place and we camped out in the attic the whole time."

"I shouldn't have done that. I already had an awful cold. I should have just stayed on died on my own floor instead of forcing you to deal with me." 

"I didn't mind," Bucky admitted. "I never wanted to be away from you."

"Me neither," Grant confessed. 

Bucky looked away, focusing on the next plate. Grant dried that one in silence as he did everything else Bucky handed him. Bucky drained the sink and held onto the edge of it, watching the water slowly twirl into the drain. Grant left, going back upstairs. Bucky closed his eyes and hung his head. What was he doing? 

He dried his hands and went to Grant's room to apologize. Grant had laid out a few more things now: more framed photos, a knit red white and blue scarf, and a potted bush cutting that was still semi-wrapped in old newspaper. 

Grant sat in a beat up chair by the window, his knees brought up to his chest. He glanced over at Bucky tiredly before looking back out the window on the rainy night. 

"I'm sorry," Bucky said quietly. 

"You have nothing to apologize for. I'm the one who threw myself into your world and I...I'm not in the headspace I thought I would be when I got here. We can just get used to each other for a while. We've got the rest of our lives to get to know each other again. I'm with you, Buck. I'm with you until the end of the line."

"You promised me that before," Bucky murmured. "And then you left me."

Grant turned to face him and Bucky felt his pulse quicken. Grant rose to his feet and Bucky felt almost small as Grant stood before him. He felt like Grant could undo him with a single touch, like Bucky would simply unravel until there was nothing left of him. 

"I'm not him," Grant swore.

"No," Bucky agreed softly, "I don't think you are."

The rain grew heavier and Bucky's breath caught, growing tighter in his chest. Maybe it wouldn't be such a terrible thing to unravel. 

Grant murmured, "God, I can't stop looking at you. I don't think I've ever seen anything as beautiful as you are right now." 

Bucky whispered, "I should go."

"Wait," Grant said. "There's something I need to give you. I meant to before but I just...here. I read it a long time ago but it was always supposed to be for you."

Grant handed him the folded letter and Bucky left the room, closing the door behind him. He went into his own room, putting the letter on his end table. He paced trying to convince himself that whatever he was considering was a bad idea. Grant had just gotten here. Bucky didn't know him. He didn't know Bucky. Grant was essentially a nice guy who looked like someone he used to know and knew some of the same stories as him. That was all. It wasn't real. It was just a fantasy and it would hurt both of them if they acted on it. Grant needed to figure that out and go home. Bucky couldn't encourage it. He had to be the rational one. 

But still Bucky sat on his bed and read the letter, the one written from his other self on his deathbed. It hadn't really sunk in until that moment that Steve had a relationship with another version of him. That Steve had been his best friend, had spent a lifetime with him. That in another life, Bucky had slowly gotten ill, wasted away, and eventually died in Steve's arms. 

It was that Bucky who had written to him across the universe. The Bucky that Grant had grown up with, who he had fallen in love with, who he had come here to find. 

Bucky read over the letter a dozen times, each time the words hitting him harder. 

_I think that guy in the ice is waiting for you. He's waiting for someone to tell him that you're still alive and then he's going to do anything and everything to find his way to you...I think he's going to go left where your Steve went right. I think this Steve is meant to be with you. _

Bucky left his room, knocking briefly before entering Grant's. He gripped the letter hard in his human hand, willing himself to stop shaking. 

"You don't know me," Bucky insisted. "You don't know the things I've done. The world you came from was the best possible version of the past eighty years. I'm not the guy you knew and I'm not the guy you saw in scrapbooks and letters. You should go home, Grant. You're not going to find what you're looking for."

"I already found it," Grant begged. "I found you."

"I'm not him either," Bucky pleaded. "You're going to realize that some day and then you're going to leave me and I can't do it again, I can't. Go home. Go home before it's too late."

Grant down at him with such hopeful blue eyes that Bucky felt dirty. Bucky had wanted Steve so long but this poor kid who had no idea who Bucky really was. He wanted the kid from Brooklyn, not the Winter Soldier. He had gotten the worse part of the deal while Steve had gotten his perfect life. Grant was dropped off in a dystopia with a shattered broken man who didn't know the first thing about treating him like he ought to be. 

As if he had read his thoughts, Grant swore, "I don't care. I don't care about any of it. There is nothing you could tell me that would make me stop loving you. Nothing. It doesn't matter."

"But it does," Bucky whispered, "and I think you know it does. We weren't kids together. We didn't go to war together. We have the same memories, but it wasn't me. And Steve and I went through a lot of things that you didn't. We met each other again too late. You're not the man I fell in love with, Grant."

Grant flinched at the sound of his own name and Bucky felt like he had plunged a dagger into his chest. He tried to apologize but his mouth went dry.   
Grant questioned, his voice trembling, "You didn't love me before 1945? You didn't love me before you fell from the train? You didn't fall in love with Steve until you met again? You...you didn't ever love me. Just him? And I'm never going to be him so...Steve was right, wasn't he? God...I shouldn't have come here..."

Grant sunk back into the chair, his fist to his mouth. Bucky wanted to say something to comfort him but he was close to tears himself. That wasn't what he had meant. He didn't know what he meant, but that wasn't it. He didn't want to hurt him. 

Bucky confessed, "I was lost. I was barely human anymore. But Steve brought me back. There were times...I nearly killed him and he let it happen because he refused to hurt me. It was my mission to kill him but I saved him from drowning instead. It was because of him - because of you - that I survived. I would have spent the rest of my life as HYDRA's tool, brainwashed and tortured. I remember every person I've killed, Grant. I remember every single one, even when I had no control. But Steve saw that and he still gave up everything for me. There are unspeakable things he did to keep me safe and that took a toll on him. But that didn't make me stop loving him. It made me love him more. I don't know...I don't know if I can just go back and try it all over again. I don't know if I can just put it aside. Not when you're so much like him...but not enough like him. It just makes it so hard to know if what I'm feeling is real or it's just...I don't want to be lost again, Grant, and I want you to be happy and I just don't know what to do."

Grant asked hoarsely, "Do you want me to go back?"

"No," Bucky refused, surprised at the strength of his gut reaction. "I don't want that." 

Grant sighed in relief. "Okay. I guess...I guess we start from there."

Bucky handed him back the letter and whispered, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm not him."

Grant took the letter and held it close to his chest. He closed his eyes and said nothing as Bucky left the bedroom and went to his own. He closed the door behind him and then laid flat down on his bed. He wanted to cry but he couldn't. All he could do was lie there and hope that it was all some sick fever dream and that he'd wake back up in Wakanda with Steve still sleeping beside him. 

Bucky could hear Grant open his door and he froze, waiting for Grant to come to him. But instead he just heard Bean whining and Grant attempting to comfort him. When Bean's meows grew particularly pitiful, Bucky gave up and went out into the hallway to get him. By the time he did, Grant's door was already closed and Bean was pawing at it. 

Bucky picked up the cat and brought him into his room. Bean protested for a second before settling down in the bed beside him. Bucky laid on his back and stared at the ceiling, listening to the rain grow harder against the roof. When he heard the first roll of thunder, he felt Bean hide in the crook of his metal arm. He pet him softly, focusing on easing Bean's discomfort instead of examining his own.


	14. Chapter 14

_He's never going to love you._

Grant replied Steve's words in his head again and again, each time feeling like a harder slap in the face. Had Grant really thought Bucky could want him? Bucky had said it himself. Grant wasn't the man he had fallen in love with. Grant was never going to be that man. Whatever their shared past was, it didn't matter. Bucky didn't love him.

Grant had never felt so lonely before. There was nothing here for him but Bucky and Bucky didn't want him. He knew he should go back to his timeline and destroy the suit. It was the right thing to do. He'd figure out some way to be happy there. He had friends, family even. He'd do his duty and fight Thanos and probably serve as an Avenger for as long as he could. Maybe he'd fall in love again but at the moment he strongly doubted it and honestly didn't want to. He was tired of being in love. What good had it ever done him?

Thunder boomed across the river and Grant went to bed, wrapping himself in the worn out quilt. He closed his eyes, listening to the brewing storm. He couldn't even use the suit right now if he wanted to. He'd have to wait until morning. 

Thunder rolled heavier now and lightning flashed close enough to make him flinch. Blanket still wrapped around him, Grant went to the window and made sure it was shut. It wouldn't quite close and he struggled with it, finally snapping off the latch entirely. He forced it down, a hairline fracture splintering down the glass. Grant grumbled. Maybe he could find some duct tape or something to keep the glass from breaking further.

Grant snuck out into the hall and down the stairs. He turned on the first light he could find and when it turned on the whole stairwell he quickly flipped it off and settled for walking in the dark. Grant ran his hand down the wall, the occasional bolt of lightning giving him an approximate sense how to get to the kitchen. After stubbing his toe a few times, he found a roll of duct tape in a drawer under the sink and made his way back upstairs.

Water had started to bead at the break in the glass but it still held together. Grant dried it off with his sleeve and started to tape it up the best he could. Somehow he managed to instead slice his fingers on the broken edge and puncture the glass further, causing it to splinter into his palm. 

Grant took off his shirt and he wrapped his hand in it. He finished his mediocre job of fixing the window and went to the bathroom. He cleaned out his hand, making sure to get out all the glass before his skin healed over it. He tossed his shirt in what appeared to be a laundry pile and headed out into the hall, tripping over the cat. Grant fell flat on his face and Bean skittered away. Grant stayed there on the floor for a while, feeling defeated. 

Bucky's door swung open and he was in the midst of asking if Grant was okay when he saw him on the ground. To add further insult, Bean padded back over to stand at Bucky's side, purring as if nothing had happened.

Bucky offered his hand and helped Grant back to his feet. Grant tried sheepishly to explain about the window and Bucky smiled, clearly trying not to laugh. Grant found himself smiling in return.

A bolt of lightning hit a weathervane several blocks down. Bean ran into Grant's room and hid under the bed. 

"I've got some plywood downstairs from the renos," Bucky said. "I'll board up the window for now and I'll fix it in the morning. You want to try to get the cat out? He'll never let you sleep if you let him stay under there."

Grant went back into his room and knelt down, peering under the bed. Bean hissed at him and took a swipe at his already injured hand. 

Grant sighed. "Look, bud, I'm not having a great time here either. Maybe we can both be a little nicer to each other. Can we be friends?" 

Bean planted himself firmly on his haunches and glared at him. Grant tried glaring back but even he couldn't win a staring contest with a pissed off cat. 

Bucky came in and boarded the window with plywood and duct tape. When he was done, he knelt down beside Grant and tried to coax Bean out. Thunder bellowed and Bean only crept further under the bed.

Bucky apologized, "Sorry, he's not coming out."

"It's fine," Grant said. "He's scared and it's his home. He can be where he feels comfortable. I'm not really that tired. I can just go read downstairs for a while."

The lights all shut off and Bean mewed pitifully. The clouds burst and the rain fell heavier than Grant had thought possible. It was so loud he could barely hear anything other than water slamming against the tin roof. The lights flickered for a moment before brightening once more. 

The thunder grew quieter, the worst of the storm lessening into heavy rain. Bean darted out and raced down the stairs. Grant stood, crossing his arms across his chest. Grant expected Bucky to go after Bean but instead Bucky rose to meet him, his face tipped up to look into his eyes. They were less than a breath apart and even over the rain Grant could hear his heart thudding in his ears. He was suddenly aware of how little clothes he was wearing, of how much of him was on display. The lights sputtered again and lightning struck in the distance, briefly illuminating Bucky's parted lips and longing glance. 

They were both waiting for the other, like always. Grant had already made the first move crossing timelines. Bucky knew how he felt. Grant didn't want to push him or make him uncomfortable. They had padded softly around their feelings their entire lives together. Maybe it was time to be direct.

Bucky reached out and touched Grant's cheek, his metal fingers stroking his skin so gently, like if Grant were made of glass. Bucky cupped his face in his hand and Grant nuzzled into his touch. 

Bucky murmured, "This isn't a good idea." 

Grant agreed softly, "Maybe not." 

Bucky smiled nervously. "When has that ever stopped us?" 

Grant swept Bucky into a deep and heavy kiss. Bucky kissed him even harder in return, pulling him close. Bucky seemed to catch himself and broke the kiss, putting his human hand on Grant's chest. Grant pressed his forehead to his, catching his breath. Bucky kissed down his throat, his breath hot against his skin. 

Grant pulled him back up, kissing him hungrily. Bucky clung to him and Grant pulled them both down onto the shabby bed. Grant rolled Bucky beneath him, cradling in his arms. Lightning struck, closer again, and Grant leaned in, kissing down Bucky's throat. Bucky slipped his hand between them and his fingers brushed against Grant's stomach on their way to the top of his pajama bottoms. Once Bucky's hand had slipped under Grant's waistband, Grant froze. Bucky stopped immediately, pulling his hand back. 

"Are you okay?" Bucky asked breathlessly. 

_He's never going to love you._

Grant didn't realize he was shaking until Bucky sat up and pulled Grant into his lap. Grant rested against his chest, trembling, and Bucky held him protectively. 

At some point, the lights turned on, bringing Grant back to reality. Grant looked up at Bucky's face and saw that Bucky was on the edge of tears.

Bucky murmured, "I know...I know I'm not what you wanted. I know I'm not...I can take the arm off if you want. I know this isn't how you pictured...me."

Grant shook his head and shifted to face him, straddling his hips. He put his arms around Bucky's neck and kissed him softly.

"It's not you," Grant confessed. "This is just a big deal for me. I've never...I've never done this before. With anyone. . I don't think I can do this. Not if...I need to know how you feel. I need to know what this means. Because I think if you wake up tomorrow morning and decide you don't want me, it's going to break me."

Bucky closed his eyes and Grant rested his head on his shoulder. 

"I don't want you to go," Bucky admitted, "but that's all I know right now. Maybe we should try to get some rest. It's late and today has been...a lot." 

"Stay here with me," Grant murmured. "Just stay and sleep here with me."

"My room has a nicer bed," Bucky offered. "Go and get comfortable. I'll just make sure the cat's okay and all the lights are off."

Grant untangled himself and did as Bucky suggested. He straightened out the twisted sheets and went under the blankets. Grant snuggled into a pillow, breathing in Bucky's smell. It seemed an eternity before Bucky came back and slipped into bed beside him. Bucky curled up on Grant's chest and Grant held him close, kissing the top of his head. Bucky rested his hand on Grant's belly and Grant laced his fingers with his.

Neither of them spoke, listening to the rain together until they fell asleep. 

*****

Bucky woke up feeling unfairly cozy. It was the sort of comfortable one should never have to leave from. Grant was still asleep but he was still holding Bucky, his face nuzzled into his shoulder. Bean was asleep in the crook of Bucky's arm, happily purring. The blankets were just around their waists, warm and soft, while the rain quietly fell on the roof. 

Bucky risked looking over his shoulder at Grant, worried about disturbing him. Grant stayed asleep but Bean stirred, mewing for breakfast. Bucky rose as gently as he could, letting Bean jump onto his shoulder and tucking the blankets back around Grant. He shushed the cat before padding down the stairs and into the kitchen. He filled Bean's bowl before going to the fridge and figuring out what to make for him and Grant. Grant would be hungry. Steve was always starving first thing in the morning and would be a cranky mess until he ate. 

Bucky froze, realizing what he was doing. He was making Grant breakfast after necking like teenagers and cuddling all night. Twenty-four hours ago, he had been sobbing at the idea of never seeing Steve again and now he was making his replacement breakfast. 

Bucky felt sick to his stomach. What was wrong with him? Why had he just let it happen? They would have had sex last night if Grant hadn't stopped them. Was Bucky that unloyal to Steve? There was something fundamentally wrong with him, something twisted and awful that he could just take advantage of some poor boy who Steve had manipulated. Bucky should know better. He shouldn't have just...

But the way Grant had kissed him. Like it was the end of the world, like he was dying, like there was nothing else he could do. It was so desperate and raw that it broke Bucky down to his core. Not a soldier, not a villain, not a hero, not anything except mortal and vulnerable and terrified. In that moment, Bucky had felt as if Grant would give him anything, do anything for him, as long as he kept living. It didn't matter if Bucky didn't love him. It didn't matter if he never saw Bucky again. Everything, every part of Grant, was sworn to him. 

Bucky had been so swept away in it, so enraptured in that intense love, that he forgotten anything outside of the two of them. All he wanted to do was prove that they were both alive, that they were going to survive, that nothing could come between them ever again. If it was the end of the world, they were together, and they would go down fighting. 

But Bucky had seen the end of the world and he hadn't survived it. He had spent his last second of existence trying to get to Steve and failing. He wanted to be with him. All he had ever wanted was to be with him. To be kissed like that, to feel like he had made it to his side, to feel so loved and so lost... Steve hadn't known. He hadn't understood what was happening. Would he have run to him if he did? 

Grant wasn't Steve. He had to remember that. He wasn't. If there was any chance to make it work, Bucky would have to let go of those years and acknowledge that they were over. Grant deserved better than to be loved as the ghost of something else. 

Would Grant have done all that Steve had? Would he lie, cheat, steal, or kill for him? Bucky hadn't wanted Steve to save him but Steve had sacrificed so much to do so. At what point was Bucky no longer worth it? How long did he have until Grant realized the same thing? How long until he left too?

Then something shifted in Bucky's chest as an old memory came to the surface. He was maybe twenty years old. He and Steve had just moved in together only a few weeks before. They were running in from the rain, laughing as Bucky held up an old newspaper over them in an attempt to keep dry. Somehow they had locked themselves out and they made it up the fire escape. Steve somehow squeezed himself through an open window and unlocked their place from the inside. Steve stood on one side of the door, hollering for Bucky to come in. But Bucky stood there, this strange understanding washing over him. These were going to be the best years of his life. Nothing was ever going to get better than this. Just the two of them, young and stupid, holed away in a shitty apartment together. But it wasn't going to last. One day, Steve would meet someone. He would fall in love with someone and have his own life. One day Steve wouldn't be on the other side waiting for him. One day Steve was going to leave him. 

"You're going to catch cold," Steve called out, his laughter fading into concern. "Come inside, Buck. Please." 

Bucky stepped over the threshold, soaking wet. Steve looked up at him, his face near impossible to read. Bucky knew it wasn't fair to Steve. He should know how Bucky felt if they were going to live together like this. Bucky should have told him before but he still had a chance then. Steve might sock him and walk out but at least he'd know the truth. Or Bucky could say nothing and he could enjoy those weeks or months or years together. He could cherish them for what they were and try to be strong enough to let them go. 

Bucky hadn't known then how hard it would be to let go, to accept what they had as what it was. To just see those years with fondness and not with...regret wasn't the right word. Maybe resentment. 

The fridge began beeping at him impolitely. Bucky grabbed the carton of eggs, gave a sniff, and brought them out to the counter. Bucky found a can of beans, cut it open, and put it in a saucepot on the stove. He prepped the frying pan, just getting it to heat as Grant came down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

Bucky asked, "You still like them sunny-side up?" 

Grant smiled. "Yeah, I do. Got any toast to go with it?"

"Dark rye's in the freezer. Help yourself."

Bucky kept his sight focused on the pan, drawing the corner of the egg up to check on it. Just out of the corner of eye he could see Grant rifle through the freezer to find the homemade loaf. He broke off a few pieces and put them in the toaster oven. Bucky looked back at what he was doing but it was hard to not just watch Grant. It was so strange seeing him just move through the space so naturally, to see him interact with the clunky dials on the oven, humming to himself.

Bucky plated the eggs and grabbed two sprigs of parsley from his window herb garden. He put one on each plate, spooned out some beans, and grabbed the toast from the oven. Bucky put both plates on the table and poured them both a cup of coffee. To Bucky's relief, Grant started immediately devouring his breakfast and after gaining permission, polished off most of Bucky's. Bucky was too nervous and he just held onto his coffee, taking the odd sip. Grant finished and did the dishes. Bucky stayed at the table, his coffee half drunk and mostly cold. 

Grant leaned against the counter, looking down at his feet. "Listen, about last night...I'm sorry. I wanted to take things slow, give us a chance to get to know each other. I can give you some space today if you want. I've got lots of reading to do and I know you've got a dozen projects on the go. I could stay out of your hair."

Bucky knew he should let him go. This wasn't fair to Grant, to lead him on or give him false hope. He needed to let him go. 

Instead Bucky asked, "Do you remember the time we got locked out, right when you first moved in? We had to climb the fire escape?"

Grant chuckled. "Yeah, in the rain. I can't believe I was ever skinny enough to get through that window. It wasn't as bad as last night but it was close."

"You thought I was going to catch cold."

"You did," Grant reminded. "You were sick all week, sniffling and moping all over the place. You perked right up by the weekend though when I said I'd go out with you and the Roberts sisters." 

Bucky smiled. "Right. Your girl was Cass and...I don't remember my date's name."

"Catherine. Her name was Catherine. She was about three inches taller than me and I think she mentioned that about thirty times that night," Grant recalled. "Cass on the other hand kept sighing every time she looked at me and at one point I caught her telling her sister that she owed her."

Bucky shook his head. "She was better off with you. Catherine got my cold."

Grant admitted, "I wasn't much of a date back then, especially when I was out with you. I'd always get jealous of your girl and then ignore mine."

Bucky teased, "So you're saying you got better?"

Grant laughed. "Only a little. In my timeline, I went out with a few people. Mostly ladies but there were a few dates with others. The last two years I was mostly with Bernie. Oh, you would have liked her, Buck."

Bucky smiled. "Tell me about her."

Grant sat down beside him and they talked for hours, only getting up to refill their coffees from time to time. Mostly Grant spoke, telling stories of the last four years of his life. At some point Bean jumped up on Grant's lap and fell asleep. Grant was so gentle with the creature that Bucky had trouble looking away from his fingers stroking through Bean's fur. 

After awhile Grant said softly, "You don't have to tell me, you know, if you don't want to. I found the leaks Natasha put online years ago but I haven't read them. I know you survived something horrible and I can't even begin to imagine how it feels. I want to know you, but I don't need to know that part if you don't want to share it. That's what I meant to say last night instead of just saying it didn't matter. It does matter, of course it does, but I mean that it's not going to change how I feel."

Bucky felt like he was standing in the rain once more, the decision growing hard in his chest. If Grant was going to go home, it didn't matter if he knew anything about the Winter Soldier. If Grant was going to stay, he needed to know everything.Bucky had wanted to hold back, he had wanted to do the right thing and push him away, but he had never had any self-preservation instinct when it came to Steve. Bucky wanted Grant to stay. He didn't know what that meant yet, but he knew if they were to have any chance of making it work, there couldn't be any secrets between them. 

_Tell him or let him go._

Bucky put his metal hand on Grant's arm. "Read the leaks. I'm going to go out for awhile but I'll be back by tonight. If you're ready, we'll talk then."

Grant asked, "Are you sure?"

Bucky admitted, "No, but...just read them." 

Bucky pulled away and went out into the world. He'd walk. He had no idea to where or what he would do, but he had to keep moving. He'd walk until he was exhausted and then he'd walk even more. When he came back, Grant would leave him and Bucky wanted to postpone that as long as he could. As long as Bucky was walking, he wouldn't have to say goodbye.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I never intended for this story to have smut but I was also expecting it to be much shorter so here we are
> 
> thank you so much to the shockingly high number of subscribers for this story and the lovely commenters following along. i super super appreciate it

Once Grant started reading, he only stopped once. After a particularly graphic case report, Grant ran to the bathroom, sure he was going to be sick. His stomach eased in time but he hid in there for a long time, not wanting to continue. He wanted to be home in his little apartment. He wanted to phone Bernie or Tony or Nat or even Steve, just someone, but he was utterly alone. 

He had wanted to know. He had needed to know. He had given up everything and now he was alone and the mere taste of Bucky's life had been enough to sicken him. Grant had been wrong. It had changed how he felt about him. But it wasn't disgust or hatred or even pity. It was a deep and profound sense of loss. It felt as if Grant had a piece of his own soul chipped away. He felt like he had failed, even though there was nothing he could have done. It felt like it was his fault. He should have saved him, somehow. Somehow, he should have known he was alive. He wouldn't have just downed the Valkyrie. He would have fought to live. He would have fought to find him. He would have come back from Hell itself if he had just known. 

Grant forced himself to finish the dossier and then he deleted the rest from Sam's computer. He showered, scrubbing his skin until it was nearly raw. He dried off, forgetting he didn't have any clean clothes. He dressed back into Sam's spare pajamas and sat on the edge of the bed. Bean jumped up and Grant absentmindedly pet him, trying to figure out what to possibly say to Bucky when he returned. 

Bean heard Bucky's key in the door first and he jumped off to run downstairs. Grant slowly rose to his feet and went to the top of the stairs, trying to will himself to go to Bucky. He had to talk to him. He had no idea what he was going to say but he had to say something. 

Bucky reached the bottom landing and looked up at him. When their eyes met, Grant's heart started racing. All his imagined conversations and all his planned speeches fled his mind and there was only one thing he could do.

Grant rushed down the steps and hugged him. Bucky froze for an instant and then eased into his embrace. Grant buried his face in his shoulder, his nose brushing against the thick scar where skin had once fused to metal. Grant burst into tears, whispering again and again how sorry he was. Bucky said nothing but his arms shifted from a defensive stance to a protective one, cradling Grant.

When Grant managed to control his sobs, Bucky assured, "I'm okay."

Grant looked up into his eyes and before he could think, he kissed him. Bucky melted into his touch, kissing him back just as softly and tenderly. When they parted, Bucky rested his forehead against his.

Bucky murmured, "I woke up this morning still wanting you. I know I'll do the same tomorrow. I want to give you everything and I've got nothing but me. That's not worth much but it's yours. Every part of me is yours."

"Are you sure?" Grant asked, his heart attempt to beat its way through his chest. "Because I don't want you to-"

Bucky silenced him with a deep, hungry kiss and Grant moaned into his mouth, his words lost. Bucky picked him up and Grant wrapped his thighs around his waist. Bucky carried him up the stairs like he was still small and scrawny. Bucky brought them into his bedroom and laid them both down in the sheets. 

"We can take it slow," Bucky promised breathlessly. "I don't ever want to hurt you. Never again. I just want to feel you. I just want you to know how much I want you here with me. Tell me how I can touch you." 

Grant begged, "Kiss me." 

Bucky did so just as intensely as before and Grant wrapped himself around him. Bucky stripped off what clothes he could reach, leaving them both bare-chested and Bucky in only his boxers. Grant reluctantly shifted to take off his pants, only to remember he wasn't wearing any underwear. He stilled and Bucky kissed down his neck, murmuring that it was okay. Grant didn't know if Bucky was encouraging him to keep going or assuring him it was okay if they stopped. Grant moved his hands to Bucky's waist, bringing him close enough Grant could feel his cock against his thigh. 

Bucky took off his underwear and Grant's mouth opened, stunned by how gorgeous he was. He had seen him naked a dozen times, but never aroused and never with the sheer bulk of a super soldier. Every part of him was thick and solid, covered in scars, so tough and calloused it would take a great deal of time to find his softest skin. He looked nothing like Bucky Barnes, the lithe part time boxer and dockhand or the calculated sniper thinned from war rations. But it was so clearly the man he had been in love with for so long and the sight of him brought tears to Grant's eyes once more.

Bucky brushed his nose against his. "Are you okay?" 

"Can I touch you?" Grant asked, the desire in his voice shocking him.

Bucky murmured, "I want to focus on you. Take your pants off for me, baby?"

Grant did so, blushing so hard he felt feverish. Bucky took him in, his gaze growing more and more ravenous. Bucky kissed him again, pulling him close enough that Grant's cock pressed against Bucky's skin. Grant groaned pitifully, feeling like he might unravel just from the sheer heat of his body. Bucky slipped his hand between them, his fingers stroking down the distinct vee of his belly, slowly dipping lower until they touched the edge of his pubic hair. 

Their eyes met and Grant expected to start panicking but he felt oddly at ease. It was Bucky. Bucky would never hurt him. Bucky would always protect him. 

Grant murmured, "Okay." 

Bucky encouraged, "Just hold on to me, baby. I'll take care of you." 

At the first ever so gentle touch, Grant threw his arms around Bucky's neck. He whimpered as Bucky continued, gently tracing a large vein before wrapping his hand around him. He slowly stroked him and Grant whined pitifully. It was already too much and it was already too little. He was both painfully aware of the fact he was losing a piece of his virginity and that he had wanted to have sex with this man since the late 1930's. He was a little reluctant but mostly very desperate.

"Still okay?" Bucky asked.

Grant let out a mostly unintelligible sound and Bucky smiled against Grant's cheek before kissing him sweetly. Grant caught his mouth and kissed him hard, clinging to him as Bucky squeezed just a little harder, jerking just a little rougher. Grant was embarrassed by how close he was already but Bucky didn't seem to mind. Every moan from Grant's throat was met with one of his. Grant dug his nails into Bucky's back and wrapped his thighs around him, pushing into his strokes. He was trembling now, so close and yet still struggling. He was fighting himself. This was his last chance to retreat. They could still come back from this. But if Grant let go, if he let Bucky unravel him, then...then...

Their eyes met and Bucky seemed to understand.

Bucky assured, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, not without you beside me."

Grant managed to pant, "I...I..."

Bucky kissed him and whispered, "Come for me, baby. You're safe. I've got you." 

Grant closed his eyes, his thighs shaking, his arms barely able to do more than hold on. His finish was long and lingering, heat flooding him, and he whimpered, trusting Bucky to lead him through it, to kiss him and stroke him until he was nothing more than a puddle in his arms, only able to focus on Bucky's voice telling him how beautiful he was. 

Grant slowly came down from the high and Bucky kissed him gently and told him he'd be right back. A moment or two later, Bucky returned with a damp cloth and ever so tenderly wiped them both clean. They kissed for a long time, holding the other close, neither of them able or wanting to speak. Eventually, Grant suggested they take a shower together but Bucky shook his head, telling him to go ahead. Grant was still too sex drunk to question it and simply kissed him before washing up.

He started sobering up a little as he washed up. He thought he should feel guilty and then felt guilty he didn't feel guilty. It wasn't like Grant hadn't ever fooled around a little with Bernie. But this was different. This had definitely been sex. Maybe a pretty light version of it, admittedly, but still he had given it up pretty quickly. Grant didn't know what that said about him that he had held back with his potential fiancée but had hopped into bed with a near stranger.

Except he wasn't a stranger, Grant thought to himself dreamily. It was Bucky. Maybe it was less that he was waiting for marriage but he was waiting for him. His best friend, his soul mate, the love of his life. There was no doubt in Grant's mind now. They would make it work. They would be together. Maybe one day that would lead to a wedding, but in his heart Grant already belonged to him. This was it. There would be no one else for him. It was Bucky. It had always been Bucky. 

*****

Bucky panicked. Not because he thought he had made a mistake, but only because he had had a revelation in what was meant to be just a pleasant handjob. Well, two, but finding out that he liked calling Grant baby and that Grant seemed to get off it seemed to be much less of a pressing concern. It was somewhere around when Grant had been wrapped around him and Bucky had been so desperate to grab the closest lubricant and slide right into him. At the time a passing thought had assured him but now out of the haze of tender lovemaking, it hit him like cold water. He had told himself that he could wait until their wedding night to finally be inside of him and briefly imagined Grant underneath him, swearing his undying love as Bucky drove them both into ecstasy. 

The sex fantasy wasn't the problem. It was the clear and absolute certainty that they would get married and it would be so soon that the abstinence thing wouldn't be a problem for much longer. 

By the time Grant slipped back into bed beside him, warm and clean and smelling like heaven, Bucky had started to relax a little. He snuggled up to Grant, curling onto his chest. Grant tucked him under his chin and Bucky's fears faded. Grant was here. That was all that mattered. 

They drifted to sleep a few times, each time waking for a while to talk and kiss a little. Bucky had no idea what time it was. It had grown dark but he didn't know if it was night or another storm was coming in. At some point Bean came in and curled up near Bucky's feet, falling deeply asleep. 

After the fourth or fifth nap, Grant asked sleepily, "Do you remember my grandfather? I was seven when he died, you and I wouldn't have known each other very long."

Bucky closed his eyes to focus but it was hard to place. He'd been to the Rogers place a dozen times in the first month after they met. It was just so long ago. When his memories had started coming back, they had been mostly of his late teens, early twenties and started working back and forward from there. The youngest he had remembered solidly was his Bar Mitzvah and stumbling over the words while his mother looked on so proudly. 

Bucky murmured, "Tell me about him. Maybe it'll come back."

"He moved in with us just before I turned two," Grant said. "Ma was struggling and her father packed up everything in his life in Derry and he came to stay with us. My asthma was at its worst when I was a toddler and she couldn't take time off work to take care of me. He used to stay up all night with me, holding me in his arms, rubbing my back to encourage me to breathe, singing to me in Gaelic until I fell asleep. When I got older, he used to tell me stories about the homeland. He grew up in the Great Famine but I didn't know about any of that until I was so much older. He could have told me so many horror stories but he didn't. My grandfather told me stories about the little people and of the old gods and goddesses. My mother hated that, trying to raise me as a good Catholic, but I loved those stories. I loved falling asleep in his old chair with him. The months after he died, I sat up every night in that chair, wrapped up in his quilt, trying to remember those stories."

"It's funny," Grant continued, "I don't know why I've been thinking about him so much lately. I was just dreaming of him, of us cuddled up together in that old chair. Maybe it's just being here in this place, in this world. My grandfather crossed an ocean to live in a country where he barely spoke the language, all because his daughter needed him. She didn't even ask. Just one day he showed up with a suitcase and said that he was moving in and he wasn't taking no for an answer. His grandson needed him. He'd never met me before. He didn't even know my middle name. But I needed him so he was there." 

Bucky smirked. "I can see one or two similarities there." 

Grant chuckled. "Maybe. Still. He must have been tempted to go home. I'm sure my Ma tried to throw him out at least once. She was proud to a fault, bless her, but she was. And I remember she was always annoyed how much he smoked and always kicked him out to do it outside, even in the dead of winter." 

The memory rose blurrily but Bucky saw an old Irish man smoking a pipe on the front step, looking up at Bucky as he came to the door. The man asked him something in another language but Bucky didn't understand. 

"You come to see my boy?" He asked, seeming to be losing his patience. "He isn't here. He's at Mass with his mother. You a Christian, child?"

Bucky shook his head. "I'm Jewish, sir." 

The man smirked and said something in Yiddish. Bucky knew enough to know it was Yiddish but not enough to say anything back. Bucky apologized and the man tapped the ash from his pipe. 

"Never let someone else know more about you than you do," the man lectured. "Remember that and never let anyone use who you are against you. Learn what your ancestors spoke and speak it well, boy."

"Yes, sir," Bucky said sheepishly.

The man asked his name and when Bucky answered, the man shook his head. "That's not a real name. What's your full name? Who are your people?" 

"James Buchanan Barnes, sir."

This seemed to amuse the man further. "Like the president? Boy, your parents weren't kind to you, were they? Poor Jewish boy named after a famous _homaighnéasach_ and he doesn't even speak a word of Yiddish. My Steven will have to keep an eye on you, keep you on the right track. Aye, you two stick by each other. Everyone in this world needs a good friend and my Steven more than most. I hear you got him out of a few scrapes already. All I hear is Bucky this and Bucky that."

Bucky's ears flushed in embarrassment. "He starts fights, I end them."

The man laughed. "Then a perfect pair. You go and find some other trouble, James Buchanan Barnes. I'll tell him you came looking for him. You remember what I said now. Know who you are and don't let anyone hold it against you. Go off now." 

Had Bucky seen Steve that day? Had he mentioned the conversation with the old man at his house? Maybe. Bucky couldn't remember that. He could barely remember the man's face but he remembered the smell of his pipe. 

"Where'd you go, Buck?"

Grant touched Bucky's cheek and Bucky came back to the moment. 

Bucky explained, "I remembered him. I've never remembered that far back before. It just came like...that's happened over the last few years. Like something in my mind just fires and I get something back that I didn't even realize I lost. What was his name? Your grandfather never told me who he was, just lectured me." 

"His name was Ian," Grant said. "I always thought if I had a son, I'd name him after my grandfather. He was a good man. A little rough to everyone who wasn't me or Ma so I hope he didn't give you too hard a time."

"No," Bucky assured. "Just a little teasing. Did you know he spoke Yiddish?"

"Just a little," Grant recalled. "He was a stonemason in Belfast for a time and he picked some up with during some construction projects. Nothing really polite though. I asked him to teach me some when for when I met your parents and he just laughed and told me it wouldn't make a good impression."

"Only my Ma spoke Yiddish, you would have just confused my Pa. He was a Unitarian, he only converted when they got married. He was Welsh way back I think. Ma came over from Hungary when she was little but she was born in Romania."

Bucky frowned. "I forgot that she was born there until right now. I must have known somewhere in the back of my head. I think that's why I hid there. There was this old woman. She made food that smelt like my mother's and I stopped. I moved into the same building. I never talked to her but she used to smile at me like she knew me. I hated that. I hated anyone looking at me and seeing something worth smiling at."

"Do you still feel that way?" Grant asked.

"No," Bucky admitted. "I don't think I do."

Grant laced his fingers with Bucky's. "I want to go to Ireland. I want to see my homeland, get connected with this reality. Maybe we should go to Romania and Hungary too. Maybe seeing it again, not on the run but as a tourist, maybe it might help bring other things back. I think we could use a vacation."

"You're not even supposed to go outside right now," Bucky reminded. 

"When Sam comes back, I'll go to the Avengers and explain. We'll figure out what happens then. I'm going to stay, no matter what, and I have no intention of hiding in this room forever. I'm going to do whatever it takes to get to live a life with you. If...if that's something you want."

Bucky kissed him gently. "I think it is."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha bet you guys never thought I was getting back to this!  
no seriously, I suck. also I didn't realize how many bad edits there was in this until I started rereading so sorry about that.

Grant felt dizzy and Sam's hand grasped his shoulder, anchoring him. Grant had barely said a word to the room full of puzzled Avengers, letting Sam explain everything that had happened. Bucky, thankfully, had agreed to wait out in the compound's courtyard. If he had been there, Grant would have been tempted to fall apart. This was all too weird and too strange. He was in a familiar place with familiar faces but everything was so off that it felt like he was dreaming and his imagination had the details ever so slightly wrong. 

Bruce questioned, "So Sam's still Captain America, right? Because we already did a press conference and everything so..."

Grant explained, "We're going to go with some variation of the truth. You said Steve retired, but you didn't say why. We'll say I got an acquired brain injury during the last battle. My memory's not great and I stepped back from a field role. It'll explain why I'm not quite myself and why I'm not fighting anymore. As long as we keep it quiet, I can step into Steve's place as easy as he stepped into mine. I can keep out of the spotlight and if you ever really needed me, I could always just be in the field as Steve Rogers."

Pepper reminded, "But you're not. The more we use you publicly, the more likely it is someone is going to figure out the truth. I would suggest that we keep you retired for as much as possible. The brain injury is a good angle. But we're going to need an exit strategy in case you decide to leave."

Grant insisted, "I'm not going anywhere. I'm here for good." 

The meeting continued but Grant felt himself disassociating. Only Bruce was there. Grant kept looking for Tony, always taking the seat nearest to the door, but that chair stayed empty. There was no Natasha pacing the room like a nervous cat. Thor always sat by Grant, leaning back in his chair, stretching out and taking up space. No Clint across from Grant, making terrible puns or lovingly making fun of Tony in ASL when he wasn't looking. This was wrong. This felt so wrong that he felt sick. 

Grant excused himself from the room and walked a few paces down the hallway before slumping against the wall and sliding to his feet. Eventually the meeting ended and the others passed by, most just nodding or smiling awkwardly. Once they were all gone, Sam came out and knelt down in front of him.

"Are you okay?" Sam asked.

"I really miss Tony," Grant confessed, fighting back tears. "He was the only person who knew who I really was. We went through everything together. I miss Nat too and it's hard not having her here but with Tony...he's gone. He lived his entire life and I missed it, just like I missed my Bucky's. I just left him and I wasn't ready to. We had talked about it so many times and he understood why I needed to leave. It just...I didn't realize how much it would hurt. I know he'll be okay. He's got friends, family. But I have no one. I'm a stranger to everyone. Everyone'll think I'm someone I'm not. They'll think I'm going to recover and get my memory back but...it's all a lie."

Grant's throat tightened as he realized, "God, I'm worse than Steve."

Sam shook his head. "Hey, don't go there. It's going to be okay, Grant. Even if you do stay and you don't end up with Bucky, you've got a home here. I know we don't know each other, but Steve was my best friend. I loved him like my brother. You and I are going to be friends too. I already know it. So you've got me. And the others too, once everyone gets used to it. It's just going to take some time."

Grant smiled sadly. "Yeah, you're right. I get the sense you usually are."

Sam laughed. "Well, at least you figured that out faster than Steve did."

Grant swallowed hard. "Did they have a funeral for her? For Nat?" 

"No, not yet. With everything that was happening, it sort of fell through the cracks. I think we all kept waiting for Banner to do something but that's not really fair on him. Were you two close?"

Grant shook his head. "Not as close as your Steve was to his Natasha. We were good friends, but her girlfriend kind of hated me so that made it hard to have a relationship outside of work." 

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Girlfriend?"

Grant blushed. "Right. You know Sharon."

"That's never going to stop being weird for me."

"Me too. I have no idea how I'm going to face her." 

Sam laughed. "Me neither, but it's going to be hilarious to watch."

Sam stood and offered his hand. 

"Come on," Sam said. "Bucky's waiting for us."

Grant took it and let him help him to his feet. They walked out together into the courtyard where Bucky paced back and forth, clearly on the phone. They hung back for a moment until Grant recognized the conversation was in Xhosa and he wouldn't be able to understand it anyways. 

Grant and Sam sat on a nearby bench, at the same time crossing their legs over their knee. Sam took out his own phone and started texting someone. Grant looked away and focused on Bucky's expressions. 

Sam received a text and he replied, nodding as if the person could see him. Maybe they could. Grant had barely figured out cell phones by 2016 and now they were even more advanced. And had a lot more Emojis. 

Eventually, Bucky ended his call and realized they were sitting there.

Bucky apologized with a shrug. "Shuri. I wanted her to hear about the Steve Swap from me before Pepper made her memorize some script for publicity." 

"Shuri?" Grant asked. 

"The Princess of Wakanda," Bucky explained. "I lived there for two years under the invitation of the royal family."

Grant frowned, looked to Sam for clarification. "Have I met Shuri?"

Sam affirmed, "Steve did and Shuri has seen basically all of Bucky's memories. If she meets you, she's going to know you're not him very quickly."

Bucky agreed, "She's invited us to come stay at the Palace for a little while. Officially so we can pretend she's helping you with your brain injury. Unofficially because she's a nosy teenager who wants to meet you."

Grant smiled. "I can handle a nosy teenager. So when are we going?"

Bucky replied, "Actually, there's somewhere I want to go first." 

*****

Bucky had been born in Shelbyville, Indiana. He'd only been about five when they moved so it wasn't weird that he had no memories of the place. He'd been twice as an adult. His sister had met a guy out there the summer she went to take care of their grandmother. Bucky went for the wedding and he went when their first child was born. Steve had been there for both those occasions so Grant had the same memories. But post divergence, Steve had come back to pay his respects to Becca's family, hoping to find some sort of closure. Bucky had only found out about it a few weeks before Thanos snapped half of reality into nothing. He had been upset. He couldn't quite explain why. It had been six years ago and Steve had no idea Bucky was still alive. It just had been something Bucky wanted to be there for. He hadn't wanted for Steve to break the ground for Bucky's homecoming. He wanted to take the initiative, whenever he was ready to. He might not have been ever ready and honestly, what did it matter? All the family he knew was dead. Even the little baby he had held in his arms had grown to be a man and died at war before Bucky could even remember he existed. 

Becca had four children. Three sons and a daughter. All her boys would die in Vietnam. Two on the same day. But the youngest, her only daughter, was now in her late sixties and living in their ancestral home. Anya. Her name was Anya. 

Bucky had seen pictures of her. She was pretty active on Instagram, of all things. She liked cooking and she liked showing off what she cooked. There weren't any pictures of the rest of her family, but he supposed that wasn't that unusual considering it was a public account. He could see a little of his mother in her, but it was hard to tell. He had never seen his mother grow that old. 

Bucky wasn't sure why he decided now was the time to message her but within forty-eight hours of his initial hello he had been invited to come and stay with her for a few days. Passover was coming up, Anya had hinted, and it would be good for him to celebrate with family. It had been years since he had been part of a Seder and honestly it didn't feel like something he particularly wanted to do. But it gave some structure to the visit. It was a holiday. People visited family on holidays. 

He hadn't been sure he wanted to go until he told Shuri about Grant. Shuri had been doubtful at first but then had grown more excited. She wanted to meet him to give her approval and while Bucky felt strangely nervous about it, he had to admit that he was looking forward to going home. Which then quickly sent him into crisis about what exactly was home to him and then at seeing Grant, instinctively knew that he wanted to meet Anya and he wanted Grant to go with him. Of course, it meant he'd likely be spending Easter in Indiana but as Grant reminded him, there were Catholics in Indiana so he could probably find a service if he felt like going to one. 

It had all seemed good in theory, but now he was standing on his grandmother's doorstep except now it was 2023 and everyone he knew was dead and the guy holding their luggage was the alternate reality version of his childhood best friend/sweetheart who had recently deserted him to marry someone else. Grant had technically never been there before. Grant also had seen a telecast of the first person to walk on Mars and had recently voted for Elizabeth Warren's presidential reelection. Grant was even more out of his element than Bucky was. 

Grant rang the doorbell while Bucky hyperventilated. Then the door opened and a young boy around six years old greeted them. The boy took both suitcases, pretending that he wasn't struggling to lift them, and encouraged them to come inside. An adult took the suitcases from him and called out, "Ma!"

Anya came out to the front hall and at seeing Bucky started beaming. He went for a handshake but she full on embraced him, holding him as close as she would a son. She pulled back, cupping his face in her hands.

"I have waited so long to meet you," she said cheerfully. "And now you are here. Welcome home, Uncle Bucky. Jacob's wife, Laura, and their two little girls are just outside chasing after the dog. My daughter - who is somewhere - is this little rascal's mother and this is her wife Ruth. Ruth, Allen, this is my uncle Bucky and his friend Steve. They're going to be staying with us for a few days for Pesach." 

Allen quickly lost interest and went off to watch TV. His two cousins seemed to appear out of nowhere and quickly joined him on the couch. 

Jacob and Laura entered a moment later, a golden retriever puppy tucked under Laura's arm. She let the dog go and it jumped up at Grant, who picked it up in delight and started talking to it like it was his first born child. Bucky introduced himself to Jacob and Laura, saying how handsome a couple they were and asking how far along Laura was on their baby to be. He tried to feel at ease but Jacob was a clean-cut military man and Laura was an All-American girl next-door type. They were just appearances, sure, but it only made Bucky feel more alien in his family's home. 

Then James entered the room, wiping his hands off on her jeans and in the midst of saying she had managed to unclog the toilet. She stopped, seeing Bucky, and the pair stared at each other. 

Bucky saw himself so strongly in James it nearly took his breath away. She had the same general build as him in his twenties, sure, but she had his eyes and his jawline too. She even stood a little like he did and he could tell by her bruised knuckles she was a boxer. And that hair, slicked back and perfectly combed, he could only have dreamt of looking that put together at that age.

Allen ran to his mother and James picked him up, resting him on her hip. 

James offered her hand and Bucky took it, a little surprised at how strong her grip was. He had shaken the hand of literal superheroes who didn't have as firm shake as she did. Should have broken a guy's hand if she wasn't careful and something told him that she had done it before.

"So you're my namesake," James said with a grin. "Pleasure to meet you. I hope you're not offended by me being a girl and all."

"Not at all," Bucky said. "I'm glad someone's using it well." 

Anya said, "Now, I had no idea she was going to be the spitting image of you, Buck. She picked it out for herself at fifteen. She must have had a gut feeling about it."

James blushed slightly. "Just never thought Miriam fit me much."

Bucky grinned. "Wouldn't have fit me much either."

*****

Laura had been craving latkes all pregnancy, so that night they had latkes. Not traditional food for the days before Pesach, but Anya didn't really run that traditional a household and only wanted her children to be well fed and happy. 

Dinner was relatively relaxed. There were few awkward questions, which was impressive considering that Bucky expected to have to explain a lot for him to look the same age as his niece's children. Or that Captain America was sitting at the table beside him. The kids had no idea who Captain America was but liked Grant as he was strong enough to lift them up to "walk" on the ceiling. As for the four adults, impressions were mixed. Ruth was an ardent pacifist and seemed uninterested in Grant as a symbol of the American war machine. Jacob wanted to hear his thoughts on the Ken Burns documentary about his life while Grant didn't know who Ken Burns was and mumbled his way through the conversation. Laura was a physical therapist and had lots of questions about Bucky's arm but caught herself any time she started asking something invasive. James seemed amused to let her wife discuss war propaganda with Grant, only twice gently reminding her that Grant had significant memory loss and it was unfair to make him answer for everything. Bucky was almost just as entertained. Grant and Ruth were a match for each other in ideals and stubbornness. James focused mostly on making sure her son ate, smiling occasionally at her wife's passionate arguing. 

After dinner, Grant was encouraged to lie down. Laura insisted that he shouldn't strain himself so much after such an injury and Bucky could see how torn Grant was about lying to her. He didn't want anyone pitying himself, especially about something that wasn't even true. Still, he went with the charade and went to have a rest in one of the guest rooms. Laura rested as well, having a human being sitting on her internal organs. Jordan and Ruth got the younger two ready for a bath and bed. Allen remained sitting at the table locked in a staring contest with James. The dog waited eagerly beside Allen, waiting for him to toss his food on the floor.

Bucky went into the kitchen to help Anya with the cleanup. She was mostly done, having cleaned as she worked, but she relented and let him wash the dishes. She sat on a stool nearby with a glass of water, sipping as she supervised.

"How are you feeling?" She asked.

"I'm really tired," Bucky admitted. "This is all a lot."

"I can imagine," Anya said. "This is very strange for me too. I used to have a Bucky Bear growing up that I told all my secrets to. Now, here you are in my kitchen."

"I don't know if I can stay here," Bucky said quietly. "I want to. But I just don't...this has gone so well. I don't want to ruin it. I don't...I want this to go well. I want to do well for all of you. I'm not who you think I am. I'm not your Bucky Bear. I'm not a hero. I don't want to bring what I really am into your home." 

"My father was a soldier, Bucky. He was there at Dachau during the liberation. He had nightmares for the rest of his life. He would wake up, shouting and screaming. If any of us spoke to him when he was like that, he would look at you like he would hit you, but he always seemed to recognize us and he would fall apart and just sob. I didn't love him any less for it. If anything, I loved him more." 

Bucky bowed his head. "I have done more than yell."

Anya said softly, "I know. I read the leaks. James told me not to, but I needed to know what happened to my uncle. I prayed for you every day and I hoped that wherever you were, you would find some peace."

Bucky murmured, "I don't think I deserve peace."

Anya's hand went to his face and she smiled sadly. "I know I should tell you how much you look like James, but all I can see in your face is my David. My little boy. My mother lost all her sons in Vietnam but I never considered that I might lose both of mine in Afghanistan. I was lucky, to have Jacob come home, even if my eldest child never did. You have his eyes. Not the colour or the shape but that same...I don't know what the word I want is. Maybe longing."

Anya pulled away. "Why don't we just plan on you staying tonight and see how you feel in the morning. You can leave whenever you need to, okay?"

"Thank you," Bucky said gratefully. "Thank you." 

"Maybe you can come back home for the High Holidays in September. We'll break fast together on Yom Kippur. It'll help. You'll see. And if it doesn't, then at least we will eat delicious food together and watch Westerns all night. That's what we always did as kids and I did the same for my own. Whenever I hear Clint Eastwood's voice, I crave a good leg of lamb. Tell me you'll come this year. Jacob goes to the mikva every year before Rosh Hashanah. You could go with him, if you'd like."

Bucky considered this. "Maybe. Can I get back to you?"

"Of course. Just let me know a few weeks before. I always have to order the lamb specially or else Doris down the street will buy up the entire butcher shop before I can get there. I imagine I'll have to double my order if both you and your gentleman stay with us. Now that I've seen you both eat, I think my poor butcher would faint without a little warning." 

"Okay. I'll let you know."

*****

Grant was already asleep when Bucky came in for the night. It was late, but Bucky hadn't even been able to shut his eyes until nearly two in the morning. He was so worried about having a night terror in an unknown bed that he wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep at all. He had walked around the block a few times with the dog, smoking a cigarette bummed from James. He watched all of the Paw Patrol downloaded on Allen's tablet. Then he smoked another stolen cigarette on the porch before forcing himself to lie down beside Grant.

Sleepily, Grant rolled over to cuddle him only to grimace at the smell of the cigarettes. He gently pushed Bucky away before rolling back onto his side of the bed. Bucky chuckled and ditched his clothes, throwing them in a pile on the floor. He held Grant in his arms and this time Grant snuggled into him. 

Grant murmured sleepily, "Love you." 

Bucky's heart leapt into his throat. He tried to think of a response but Grant promptly started snoring. Bucky closed his eyes, his heart still racing. Grant was asleep and was probably just dreaming. But still the thought was warm and soft enough that although Bucky still tossed and turned, his nightmares let him be.


	17. Chapter 17

It had been a very long time since Bucky had taken part in the Seder. He couldn't even remember the year. He had been maybe twenty. Maybe younger. His family wasn't particularly observant but his mother was insistent on this ritual. Maybe because she had once fled from her own homeland. Bucky had never asked. He wished now he thought to ask. 

It was the first and only time he brought Steve. That first year after Sarah died...so maybe he was eighteen or nineteen. Steve was the youngest person at the table that year. Bucky always had been before and he had memorized the questions years ago. It would have been fine if he had asked them again this year, but Steve had gotten it into his head that he was going to be respectful and ask them himself. He had practiced with Bucky's mother for two weeks. He even did it in Hebrew, which Bucky had only done the year of his Bar Mitzvah and he could kinda sorta pronounce the words. Steve did it perfectly and Winnie had been so proud she stopped the prayers just to kiss his forehead and thank him.

Why had he stopped going? There must have been a reason. Maybe they went to Shelbyville each year instead and Bucky couldn't afford to go...maybe. Maybe it didn't matter. He had never been particularly religious. But he felt like there had been a reason. 

Allen was old enough to take that role now and James and Ruth watched with great pride. Anya coached him on one or two words but otherwise he did it just fine on his own. Anya sat at one head of the table, facing the reserved place for Elijah. Bucky sat to the right of it, Grant to the left. Grant was well immersed in the experience, but Bucky couldn't stop looking at the empty chair. He knew the purpose vaguely of it but for him it wasn't the promise of an arbitrator of justice to appear that captivated all his attention. It was a sense of loss. Of all those who should have been around that table with them. Anya's brothers. Her son. Whatever spouses and children they might have had. Yet Bucky was there. Bucky who should have been long dead. And in another universe, was. His partner too. Would Sam be sitting where Bucky was now? Would it be Sam with his head bowed in prayer?

Why was Bucky there? He didn't deserve to be there. He couldn't just sit there and act like he was the same as all of them. He didn't belong there. 

After the glass of wine was poured for Elijah, Bucky volunteered to be the one to open the door. But after getting feeling the breeze and the misty spray of the light rain, Bucky felt compelled to walk outside and down the street. 

He didn't know how long he walked until he felt a hand on his arm. He turned to see James standing behind him underneath a black umbrella, a cigarette dangling off her lip like she was John Wayne. She took a drag and offered it to him. Bucky accepted, sheltering the smoke from the rain with his metal hand.

"That thing rust in the rain?" She asked.

Bucky shook his head. "No."

James held the umbrella over him, letting him smoke the rest of the cigarette in quiet while the rain grew heavier. They didn't talk, James just watching him quietly and Bucky fighting the urge to run back into the rain.

When there was nothing left but ash between his fingers, Bucky agreed to go back. 

When they got through the door, James made a joke to the family about finding Elijah and while her mother lovingly lectured her to be respectful, Grant made his way to Bucky and held him tight in his arms. 

"I'm okay," Bucky promised. "I'm okay."

*****

Bucky and Grant spent the rest of the evening in their room. Nearly naked and wrapped in an old quilt together, Grant read him Leonard Cohen aloud while Bucky listened. The rain slowly eased and the world softened around them. Bucky lay on Grant's chest and his presence filled his senses. His heart beat, quickening whenever Bucky's fingers moved against his skin. His breath hitching whenever the poetry grew sexual (and being Leonard Cohen that was fairly often). Bucky hadn't known that. He had picked _The Book of Longing_ because of his conversation with Anya. Longing. That word that had defined his world for so long and that had been so central to his being. And had encompassed his relationship with the man beside him. This man that was both Steve and not Steve. Both the man he had loved his entire life and a complete stranger. But Bucky wanted him all the same. 

Grant read, "I thought I saw you with a child. I thought I heard you weeping and all the garden round you wild and safely in your keeping. I don't recall what happened next. I kept you at a distance, but tangled in the knot of sex my punishment was lifted. Your remedies..."

Grant stopped as Bucky's hand slipped beneath Grant's boxers. Bucky kissed his neck and murmured in his ear, "Keep going." 

Grant went bright red as he continued, "Your remedies beneath my hand, your...your fingers in my hair, the kisses on our lips began that...that...that..."

Bucky was fully stroking him now, slow and easy, but enough that Grant was already hard. He panted but Bucky nipped at his throat and murmured, "Please, keep going." 

"The kisses on our lips began that ended everywhere. And when I gathered up to leave, you drew me to your side to be like Adam was to Eve, before the Great Divide...God...Bucky..."

Bucky whispered, "Shhh. Don't stop, baby. Keep reading."

"And here I cannot life a hand to trace the lines of beauty, but the lines are traced and love is glad to come and go so freely. And here no sin can be confessed...no sin...yes, yes, yes..."

Grant barely made it through another line before tossing the book aside and kissing Bucky deeply. Grant held onto him as Bucky fisted his cock, bringing him close to the edge. Grant straddled his hips, thrusting into Bucky's touch. Bucky groaned into his mouth and kissed him so hard his teeth nearly cut his lip. 

Grant let out the smallest gasp as he came, spilling onto Bucky's stomach and fingers. Grant held him tighter, still shuddering. Bucky cradled his head in his hand, running his fingers through the fuzz of his short hair. Bucky kissed his face before rising to find some tissue to clean up with.

"Can't I touch you first?" Grant asked softly. 

Bucky looked at Grant, disheveled and gorgeous. Bucky was very tempted, as he had been the two other times they had been like this. But he was too tempted and he was rough and he could never forgive himself for pushing Grant past a limit that the haze of sex deemed unimportant. He could never forgive himself for Grant waking up the next morning and feeling like he had given a part of himself he couldn't get back. 

So Bucky just kissed him again, soft and tender, and promised, "I'll be right back."

By the time he had finished himself off in the bathroom, cleaned himself up, collected a damp towel for Grant and filled a glass of water for them both, Grant was half asleep. Bucky wiped off Grant's mostly clean belly and Grant smiled, murmuring something in what sounded like Gaelic. Grant then said it again in English, his eyes drooping closed.

"Come to bed, darling," Grant murmured. "Come to bed with me." 

*****

They left in the morning. Bucky had been hoping to sneak out but even at six Anya was up and awake, working on breakfast. She didn't try to guilt him into staying, but did hand him a container of leftovers and reminded him to think about Yom Kippur. 

Bucky had no idea if he would be up to it but he did think he might like to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, first I started feeling bad about the smut before I started writing it but then thought if there was ever a human being that ever inhabited this world that would be pro-handjob on Passover while reading Jewish poetry, it would be Leonard Cohen. So here we go. 
> 
> Also added a chapter because I think I may be doing something different than I originally intended (thus the multiple month break). Hoping to finish this off by the end of January but we'll see...
> 
> Also, also: I am not Jewish so if I messed something up, please let me know. This is all me trying to remember from my undergrad/Jewish friends/Google for verification.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes so I've been in what I call the pit of despair for months only to come up and see what's happening in the world so I'm pulling a Decameron and going to entertain us with stories while we hide from illness. I hope you're all doing okay and I'm really really hoping I'm going to finally (FINALLY) finish this fic in the next few days.

In the half hour that Bucky was gone, just after James had been sent to find him, Anya took Grant aside into the kitchen. While Grant was nervous about Bucky's disappearance, Anya was almost unconcerned. She just encouraged Grant to sit down at her kitchen table while she brewed thick black tea for Bucky and James for whenever they came in from the damp cold.

Once the tea was steeping, Anya sat beside Grant and took his hand into hers.

"Tell me something, Grant," Anya said, a smile barely hidden on her face. "How long have you been keeping that ring box in your jacket pocket?"

Grant sputtered, "How did you-"

Anya replied, "It fell out when I was hanging up your coats. You need deeper pockets, Steve, if you're going to keep something that precious hidden."

Grant blushed. "It's my friend Sam's jacket. He's a lot more style conscious than worried about carrying capacity."

"So? How long then?"

Grant rubbed the back of his neck as he admitted, "Only a few hours before we came here. I was going to wait to ask when we were in Wakanda. You won't tell him, will you? I'm not sure if he's ready for it and I don't want to scare him off. I just wanted to be ready." 

Anya's smile grew brighter and she squeezed Grant's hand. "I know we don't know each other very well, Steve, and I know you probably don't remember the last time we spoke alone like this. Do you know why my James picked her name? When she realized she was a lesbian, she struggled, but she found comfort when I told her about her Uncle and how he was so very much in love with another man. Then she met you and I don't know what you said to her, but that night she went out and she asked her wife to marry her."

Grant replied, "I think I can imagine what I said."

Anya nodded. "Me too. So don't keep that ring in your pocket for too long, Steve Rogers. Promise me you'll ask him soon."

"I promise, Anya."

They heard the front door open and James call out, "Look who I found!" 

Grant raced to Bucky and held him tightly in his arms as Bucky assured him that he was okay. When they pulled apart, Grant looked at the sad drenched man reeking of cigarettes and knew that they belonged together. It wasn't too soon. There was no perfect time to wait for. They had waited an eternity already.

Wakanda. Once Shuri had given him her blessing. Then...then Grant would ask what he had wanted to for nearly a century. He'd ask Bucky to marry him. 

****

Grant had never been to Wakanda, though Steve had visited dozens of times. He had to pretend to be unimpressed but it was hard to not stare at every new and exciting thing that crossed his sight. It was geographically gorgeous, technologically astounding, and the scents and the music and the voices of the people going about their daily lives...he could have spent years sketching and painting and still never convey what an instant in their capitol city felt like.

Once they arrived at the palace, a helpful pair of attendants brought them into Shuri's lab. The teenager looked up from her work - some sort of welding? - and went straight to Bucky, gripping his arms excitedly. She spoke to him in hurried Xhosa before realizing Grant was standing there as well.

Shuri switched to English. "This must be Grant. Pleased to meet you. You're right, Bucky, I would have noticed. He hardly looks the same at all, does he? I can't wait to examine the difference in his memories."

"Memories?" Grant asked.

Shuri explained, "When I was working on Bucky's condition, I used Steve's memories to help map events in your shared past. Not that Steve's was perfect, but at least I could compare and help visualize it. It would be fascinating to put you through the same simulations, if you'd let me. Really see how memories are affected by later experiences."

Grant laughed. "Sure, but I think I might like to have a shower first before you start poking around in my head."

Shuri shook her head, grinning. "Of course not right now, silly man. I have to catch up with Bucky first and then we'll have lunch and then I'll examine you. How better to get to know each other through non-invasive brain scans?"

Grant glanced at Bucky and Bucky smiled. "I think my old room's set up again. I'll meet you in an hour or two?"

Grant agreed, kissing Bucky on the cheek. He was escorted into the guest wing and given a brief tour of their suite and how to use the shower. Grant figured it out and stayed far too long inside the comforting cocoon of steam. Once he got out, he finagled the screen to show the endless amount of film and television that he could stream at lightning fast speeds. 

A little overwhelmed, he turned it off and called Sam. They talked a little about Passover but mostly about the cat. When Sam had to go, Grant was left to pace nervously around the room. He had nothing to be scared about. It wasn't like he was asking Bucky's father for permission or anything. She was a teenager who had spent two years poking around Bucky's brain. Which was weird. She knew him better than Grant ever feasibly could. 

After what felt like several decades, Bucky returned and led him to a sunny atrium several floors above their room. Shuri sat at a table spread out with divine smelling food, already chatting with several others who Grant vaguely recognized as being part of her lab crew.

Shuri didn't actually talk much to Grant. Maybe she figured she didn't have to. Maybe she was just watching him, studying him. Maybe she was just trying to give him space to be with Bucky. Or maybe Grant was overthinking all of this and should just enjoy his meal.

Soon enough, Bucky gave Grant a quick peck goodbye and Grant found himself sitting in a comfortable lounger in Shuri's lab as she sat beside him, tablet in hand. All her co-workers were gone, leaving Grant with no one else to look at. 

Shuri explained, "During Bucky's treatment, I used some of Steve's memories to anchor Bucky's own. While of course it was from Steve's perspective, it helped verify Bucky's memories and helped me identify which parts of his brain were most affected by HYDRA's reformatting. What I would like to do today is compare one of your memories to one of Steve's. I want you to consider every detail you can remember. Play through it a few times if you have to. I will compile the data and if you'd like, you can experience it through the same inputs that I used in Bucky's treatment. Or if this works, I can assist you in recovering some of Steve's memories in order to better adjust to this timeline."

Grant shook his head. "No. Those belong to him. It wouldn't be right. But I'll help you with your research. You've got something in particular you want me to remember?"

Shuri examined her notes. "I have a specific event in mind. It was one of Bucky's clearest memories and I used it as a primary sample during my initial testing. When you were reunited at Azzano, the first time you saw each other again. Would you be comfortable revisiting that?"

Grant agreed, "Okay."

Shuri clipped him into her system, which comprised of an electrode on each temple, one just over his heart and another on the pulse point in his wrist. She tapped her tablet a few times, preparing the test.

Shuri assured, "This won't hurt, but you may feel some feedback, a little vibration back. It's nothing to worry about. You don't have to close your eyes, but it usually helps. I can guide you through the process if you're struggling, but I would prefer to not interfere. But I can suggest that you focus on senses - sight, smell, sound, and so on but also on how you felt. Emotion is our greatest asset. You won't remember exact details, but you'll probably remember what you felt, maybe even what you were thinking."

Grant took a deep breath. "Okay. So I just...start?"

"Whenever you're ready. Think of what details you can. It doesn't have to be in any order. Just whatever comes to mind, as unfiltered as you can." 

Grant closed his eyes and considered Azzano. There had been so much running through his mind, so much he needed to concentrate on, and he had a plan, barely a plan, but he had kept repeating it to himself. But Shuri hadn't asked about all of that. She wanted that moment they saw each other again. One moment. Just the one. She didn't need the details around it. Someone else could have told her that. She needed specifically what Grant remembered. 

The first thing he had thought of, before he could even process that Bucky was alive, that it was the first time he had ever seen him in colour. He could see a bit of blue and yellow before, but nothing prepared him to see every detail of Bucky's eyes or the soft pink flush of his lips. He was worn and broken but he was so beautiful that Grant's entire being halted for a second. 

They said each other's name, both shocked, both confused how it was possible. But Bucky knew him. He knew him. He was alive and he knew him and he was going to make it out of there alive, no matter what it cost Grant. Grant had gone there willing to die for a chance to bring his body back, for the chance to save any of his unit that still lived. He wasn't going to fail now. 

Bucky was worried that Grant was hurt. Of course that was what he would worry about. Tortured and haunted and he was worried that Grant was the one in danger. They were so foolish for each other. Always ready to jump into a scrap for the other. 

What had the room looked like? Bucky had been lying down. There must have been a table or a bed. Maybe...had it been a cell? An operating table? He was away from the others. His dog tags said Protestant and Grant had focused on that and wanted to ask but never did end up asking, not even after the war.

No - there was no after the war. That part wasn't him. The photos of him and Steve. Those didn't belong to him. None of it belonged to him.

Did Bucky have stubble? A beard? 

Had he been praying?

Had he been calling for him? 

Grant felt the electrode on his wrist being removed and he blinked his eyes open. He saw Bucky, his Bucky, sitting beside him, gently touching his shoulder. Grant put his hand on his and Bucky leaned forward, pressing his forehead to his.

"You're okay, baby," Bucky murmured. "You're okay."

Grant was crying. How long had he been crying?

Shuri took off the rest of the electrodes and apologized, "I've never had a reaction like this before, even for traumatic memories. Are you alright?"

"How long was I..."

Shuri said, "Thirty-four minutes."

Grant shook his head. "No. I barely remembered anything. It couldn't have been..."

Grant looked to Bucky and asked, "Was it like this for you?"

Bucky shook his head. "No. Steve neither." 

Grant shivered, closing his eyes, and Bucky murmured, "Baby, baby, you've got to stay here with me. Stay with me."

Grant asked quietly, "Did you get any useful data, Princess?"

"I think so, but we will not be trying this again. I am so sorry. If I had any idea it would be like this...it's so strange. You have the same brain. How could it be so different between the two of you?"

Bucky said gently, "Because they're not the same person."

Grant opened his eyes and looked to Shuri. The Princess smiled a sweet sad smile and glanced between the two of them.

"No," she agreed. "They're not."

****

Grant spent the next day in bed, feeling like he had when he was small and sick. He could almost feel the ghost of his asthma in his lungs and a phantom curve in his spine. Bucky stayed by his side the entire time, his warm hot body a constant reminder of where and when they were.

Lying on Bucky's chest, Grant murmured, "I'm sorry I'm not him."

Bucky whispered, "I'm not."

Grant looked up into his eyes, the same beautiful eyes he had seen in Azzano, and he kissed him so deeply they both had to catch their breath. 

"I love you," Bucky said softly. "You, Grant. Not because you're some version of Steve. I love you because of you."

"I love you too," Grant confessed. "But I think I would love every version of you."

Bucky smiled before kissing him again. "I think I can accept that."

****

Two days later, Bucky took Grant to the village he had lived in. He introduced him to his friends and his goats, explaining to even the latter that Grant had memory loss and to be patient with him. The goats seemed interested in Grant, even the doe that had always had it out for Steve. Bucky didn't tell him about the bruises Steve always had on his shins. He just watched in amazement as the goat not only let Grant pet her but seemed happy he did so. 

They went swimming in the river and camped out under the stars, even though they knew they were going to get eaten alive by mosquitoes. 

They woke early and watched the sunrise together, wrapped in the same blanket, Bucky's head on Grant's shoulder. They stirred at a bleating and saw that one of Bucky's former goats had escaped from its pen. Bucky chuckled and picked the kid up and held it in his lap.

"I miss our cat," Grant commented, scratching behind the goat's ears. 

"Me too," Bucky replied. "Maybe we should get Bean a friend? They can keep each other company while we travel. You mentioned wanting to go to Ireland."

"I do," Grant agreed, "but you technically still have a job and we've already been away for almost a week. I'm sure Sam misses his favourite human shield."

Bucky chuckled. "I'm glad you put human in there because I am definitely not his favourite shield. I swear I heard him talking to it once."

Grant laughed a little too loud and the goat scampered away. Bucky snuggled in closer to Grant and kissed him tenderly.

Bucky asked, "You're not going to be too bored in the States?"

"Please. I'll be busier than you by the end of the month. You know I can't sit still."

"Don't get too busy just yet," Bucky teased. "I intend to take you on a very, very long honeymoon. It would be a shame if you couldn't get time away for it."

Bucky realized what he had just said and blushed. Grant did the same, biting his lip. Bucky smiled sheepishly, feeling like he was seventeen and barely able to ask a girl to dance with him. And Grant smiled back like he was sixteen and barely able to say yes without giggling. 

Grant's ears turned bright red. "I was planning to ask you first. Seems like the right thing to do before going on a honeymoon. Getting engaged at least."

Bucky's heart thudded in his chest. "So ask me now."

Grant went to his rucksack and pulled out a small wooden box. He opened it to reveal a simple silver band lying on a bed of pale linen. Picking the box up, Bucky saw there was only one detail on the ring - a single line of gold circling the band. A line with no end. 

Grant asked softly, "James Buchanan Barnes, will you marry me?"

Bucky wanted to laugh, but not at Grant. How absurd a situation they were in. How strange and awful and wonderful. He wanted to laugh at how ridiculous it all was but also in relief because there was no question now, no uncertainty, no doubt. Grant loved him and he loved Grant. It didn't have to be any more complicated than that.

So he said yes.


	19. Chapter 19

In rural Wisconsin, there was a great old oak tree well over a hundred and fifty years old that had survived despite being struck with lightning. The tree had once resided in a farmer's field until it became a training camp for the army and then was returned to the community and became a public park.

Under this tree, Bucky had written dozens of letters to Steve, the same letters that Grant read in his timeline. It was the place Grant had dreamed of when he had first woken from the ice, that first hopeful dream that he would find Bucky again. 

And this is where, two months after Grant's proposal, he and Bucky got married. 

They made their vows under a simple chuppah built from thin white linen and thin cedar beams. The sun was bright and its light filtered through the great tree's leaves before it reached their small wedding party of six. A Reform rabbi and her wife, a Lutheran minister, conducted the ceremony, easily switching back and forth between the two of them, flawlessly blending traditions together. Each of them had a single witness. Grant had Sam, who had become only a deeper and truer friend as time had gone on. Bucky asked his great-niece James to be his as she was slowly becoming one of his closest friends. Her wife Ruth was on bed-rest with the baby, but Allen came as their ringbearer and his grandmother Anya as their flower girl. There was no music, just the wind and the birds and the distant sounds of children playing further away in the park. It was short but tender and Grant had not realized he was capable of being that happy.

After they went to the minister and rabbi's house where their officiants made dinner for all of them. They spent hours talking and eating and drinking until Sam had to catch his flight back to New York and it was time for Allen to go to bed. The Indiana contingent slept over night as the officiants' guests but a cab was called for Grant and Bucky to bring them to the farmhouse they were to spend their wedding night.

It was a simple cobblestone building with only one floor between the attic and the cellar. It was an old family house, the minister had said, one they rented out to newlyweds as part of their wedding package. She had said it so relaxed and matter of fact that Grant had no idea how lovely it would be. There was a small but pristine kitchen, a well-stocked library, as well as a luxurious bathroom with a rain head shower and a soaker tub. Finally there was a large bedroom with a four-poster bed, a great stone fireplace, and a large window that looked over the endless fields of growing corn and a nearly overwhelming full moon and starry night. 

They drank champagne in the tub together, barely fitting but happy to snuggle closely. Grant was deliriously happy but he was getting nervous. Bucky had made it clear they didn't have to have sex that night but Grant had waited for this for so long and the night was so perfect. Grant assured himself that they could just fool around a little, maybe just a little further than they had before. It didn't have to be anything they hadn't done before.

But Grant wanted more so badly and he knew it was one of the stronger reasons for their short engagement. He wanted to have sex with the man he loved, no holds barred anything goes no guilt needed sex. He had just wanted that commitment before his God first and now he had it. The only thing holding himself back now was his own fear. And perhaps just a little residual guilt. He was still Catholic after all.

After their bath, Bucky went to start the fireplace and Grant stayed in the bathroom, trying to find the article he had saved on his phone about preparing for anal sex for the first time. He followed it thoroughly, even doing the silly affirmations it suggested, before putting on his softest tank top and sweatpants and meeting Bucky in the bedroom.

Bucky was pacing by the window, on the phone with someone but hanging up as soon as he saw Grant. Bucky was in his pajama pants and a black t-shirt, just covering the scars where his arm locked into his shoulder. He smiled nervously at Grant and Grant smiled just as nervously in return, rubbing the back of his neck.

Bucky went to him, putting his arms around his waist. Grant hooked his arms over Bucky's shoulders and brushed his nose against his. 

"I meant it," Bucky assured. "We don't have to do anything tonight." 

"I know," Grant said, "but I want to. I really, really want to."

"Then take the lead," Bucky murmured. "I'll follow you, wherever you go." 

Grant instructed quietly, "Then take your clothes off."

Bucky did so, standing before him naked and hard. Grant's lips parted, fighting the urge to kneel and suck him off right there. But that wasn't what he wanted this first night. There would be time to do a hundred new things together. It was all sex, Grant had rationalized to himself, even the stuff they had already done, but there had always been a hard limit. Something he was keeping for marriage and now that they were married, he didn't want to wait anymore.

A strange confidence came over Grant and he instructed, "I want you inside of me. I want you on top of me. I don't want you to come inside of me this time so it's not too much at once. I'm prepped and I don't need foreplay. I just want you."

Bucky helped Grant out of his clothes before laying him on the bed beneath him. For awhile they just kissed and petted and while Grant had insisted he just wanted to get right to it, he was enjoying himself. Bucky was gentle with him and touched him tenderly until he was hard. Then Bucky slicked himself with lube and knelt above him, his body so close there was barely any space between them. Grant wrapped his thighs around him, feeling him the tip of Bucky's cock pressing at his rim.

Grant looked up into his eyes and whispered, "Please." 

Bucky slowly slid into him, watching Grant's face carefully. Grant felt the pressure but he didn't feel like he was being pried open. Bucky didn't have to stop and start. His motion was languid but it was smooth. When he was fully seated in him, Bucky let out a shaky groan but Grant was too stunned to even make a sound. It didn't hurt like he thought it might. It just felt...he felt like...

Grant couldn't think anymore and he gave himself over to Bucky. Grant kissed him and held on to him, wrapping himself as close as he could, moving with each thrust. Bucky kept his metal hand on the bed to stabilize them but the other rested between Grant's shoulders, holding him protectively. 

"I love you," Bucky whispered again and again. "I love you."

Grant probably tried to speak but if he did, it would have come out as near babbling. He was too overwhelmed, too raw, too open, and on the edge of crying or screaming. He slipped his hand into the small space between them and stroked himself. Bucky loosened his hold on him, raising his chest off his. Grant missed his heat but now he could see Bucky's face. His brow was furrowed, his cheeks flushed, and his eyes so hungry for him.

"I'm not going to last," Bucky panted. "Are you close?"

Grant shuddered and managed to nod. Bucky kissed him fiercely, his tongue sliding inside of him. Grant ran his other hand through Bucky's hair, gripping onto him. Grant trembled and his back arched of its own accord. He came undone and thrust up into his hand as Bucky pounded into him, deepening the sensation. Bucky didn't last much longer before pulling out and with a few strokes finishing on Grant's stomach.

Grant kissed him as hard as he could, his teeth grazing Bucky's lips. 

"I love you," Grant panted.

Bucky rolled them so Grant was lying on his chest. Grant burrowed into him, desperate to be close. Bucky understood and shifted them until they were entangled together, one hot slick mess. 

"How do you feel?" Bucky asked.

Grant smiled. "Weird, but the good kind of weird." 

They cuddled in comfortable silence for a long time before Bucky let out a long yawn. He apologized but Grant shook his head and kissed his nose. 

"It's been a long day," Grant murmured. "Let's get some sleep." 

Grant got up and came back with a damp cloth. He wiped them both down, kissing Bucky slowly and languidly as he did so. Once they felt clean enough, Grant tossed the cloth in the hamper and put his sweatpants back on before climbing back into bed. Bucky was already half-asleep, curled towards the moonlight. He stirred, smiling happily when he saw Grant.

Grant wasn't sure how long he watched Bucky's face, how long he spent memorizing what he looked like highlighted both by the cool moon and the warmth of the crackling wood. But eventually he leaned in and kissed him. Bucky held him close before fully drifting off. Grant stayed awake for a time, resting his head on Bucky's chest, listening to his heartbeat. 

When he did sleep, he dreamed of their future together. The townhouse was fixed up and they had a second white cat, who always napped next to Bean. And they had two kids, a boy and a girl, both under five years old. Their names weren't spoken aloud but he knew them all the same. Iain. Natalia. 

The future belonged to them, to the family they would have together, to the family they already had. They shared a past, but it was only a starting point. The best was yet to come. 

****

Bucky woke up in the early hours of the morning. Grant was still blissfully asleep but had stolen all of the blankets. Bucky got up and relit the fire. He texted James, apologizing for hanging up on her but thanking her for the pep talk. 

Bucky sat before the fire for a while, monitoring it to make sure it didn't flicker out again. It stabilized but he found he couldn't sleep. It had been more than cold that had made him sleepless. Bucky smiled to himself, playing with the wedding band on his right hand. He was excited. For the first time in a very long time, he was looking forward to the rest of his life. 

A few minutes later, Grant sat down on the floor beside him. He brought a blanket around both their shoulders before kissing Bucky sweetly. Bucky pressed his forehead to his and closed his eyes. 

_I don't know what else to say. I guess I just want you to know that whatever happens, you're going to be all right, Bucky Barnes. You're going to be all right. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can you even believe it? it's over! thank you so much to all of you who have been reading along for most of a year. I truly appreciate it :D :D :D :D


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